


The Artist and His Ghosts

by professorjjong



Category: SHINee
Genre: Angst, Brief transphobia, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/M, M/M, Mental Illness, Mental illness (social/generalized anxiety, Mentions of Suicide, Mild Sexual Content, Negative Body Image, Past Character Death, Romance, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural - Freeform, Swearing, brief use of homophobic language, but whatever we'll do that another day, i'm going to go back at some point and clean it up, insomnia), pay attention to the warnings please otl, rewrite some of chapter four, this was my first chaptered fic for fandom and ngl it's a bit of a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-11-04 16:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 67,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10994331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professorjjong/pseuds/professorjjong
Summary: Kibum is an artist tortured by his work—by impossible images that appear and refuse to leave until he has painted them. As the images grow more powerful and more desperate, Kibum has begun to slowly shut himself away from the outside world. But when he's reunited with a teenage friend, Kibum comes to find reality may be just as dark as his visions.





	1. Starting

**Author's Note:**

> Okay to start off I have a butt-load of people to thank. There's my bro-above-all-bros Kate who can actually do art and helped me figure out how art happens because I can barely tell the difference between a colored pencil and a crayon lbr. She doesn't even like SHINee yet she was such a bro in helping me with this ^^ (if you want pretty paintings of your favorite k-pop star you should message her!). Then there's Naomi who read over this and helped give me the confidence I really needed to get this out. Andddddd Nadine who bounced ideas back and forth with me so I could help get this story on the road. Without the three of you guys this story wouldn't be here and I'm so so soooo grateful for that!! Thank you!
> 
> Two things: ages are slightly different. And suspend your disbelief and pretend there were smartphones back when the members were in high school.

“Kibum, why don’t you head out today?”

Kibum shrugged as he swiped his paintbrush, dipped in a thick lavender paint, over the easel with wide strokes. He brought his hand back to the palette, gathered more of the lavender paint on his brush and mixed it with the white paint in the center, then brought the brush back to the canvas.

A cough sounded from behind him, in the same direction as the voice. Jinki used to love watching him paint, and Kibum was sure a part of him was still a fan; but now whenever he came to Kibum’s studio it was always to plead the artist to put down his brush.

“I’m almost done with this one,” Kibum mumbled just loud enough for Jinki to hear.

“Really?” Jinki asked, surprise lining his voice.

“Yes.”

Kibum placed the brush in a cup of water on the table behind him without turning away from the easel. He gave it a precursory swish before laying it flat on the worn cloth beside the cup. He produced a smaller brush from the belt on his hip and dipped it into the black paint on his palette. Before pressing the brush to his easel, he shifted his weight onto his left foot to take a look at his model over the easel.

It was a woman, maybe. A woman with rough, gray skin and long arms that reached upward desperately. Her mouth was wide, brow furrowed in a mixture of terror and frustration. She was wearing a lavender dress that flowed out from her small waist toward Kibum, pressing against the curve of her hips and back of her legs while lifting at the front away from her, as though she had turned her whole body around to face him in the midst of running in the opposite direction.

It was her limbs that brought her status as a woman into question. Her feet were not feet at all, but had joined together to form what looked like the base of a tree. An uneven, bark-like texture marked not only her legs but her arms. Her hands had lost their fingers, replaced by branches and twigs marked with a spattering of green leaves. More branches reached heavenward, extending in every which direction from her arms and shoulders.

Kibum studied her hair--pitch black and wind-tousled, a few strands falling over her eyes--before turning back to the easel and filling in the black spaces between the background and her hair he had painted earlier.

When he had finished, he flicked his eyes back and forth between the easel and model to search for any discrepancies. It took a few glances before he realized he had missed a small mole on the side of her nose, which he added with a simple flick of his wrist. He peered over the easel and gazed at the empty studio wall. His model had vanished.

Kibum signed the painting in the lower left corner Key. He turned to his brushes on the table to wipe off any excess water and ensure they were all paint-free before he stored them carefully in the belt around his waist. As he worked, he heard Jinki rise from his chair and approach the easel.

Kibum counted in his head the twenty-seven seconds Jinki looked silently at the painting before asking, “What is it?”

“I dunno,” Kibum said with a shrug. “What do you think it is?”

“Hmm,” Jinki replied. “I guess...a woman? A tree becoming a woman?”

Shrugging, Kibum detached the belt from around his waist. “Maybe.”

**

Jinki had not attempted to persuade Kibum to change into something not covered in paint before they walked over to the cafe beside Kibum’s apartment building. Kibum probably didn’t own anything not covered in paint and he may have used that as an excuse to stay inside.

The cafe--it was a dive, really, but “the cafe” was the name that had stuck in Kibum’s mind-- was one of those burn-out places where the walls were painted a sad yellow. The booths were falling apart and Kibum’s thighs always got stuck to them if he was wearing shorts. It smelled faintly of cigarette smoke even though smoking technically wasn’t allowed in the building, but apparently the employees always took a drag in the backroom on their breaks. But the coffee was surprisingly good and the grease that dripped disgustingly from all the sandwiches actually made them pretty delectable. But more than that it was close, and Kibum was pretty comfortable with it.

They earned more than a few stares when they entered the cafe. Still, the two traipsed confidently to their usual booth in the far corner. The waitress, a tall thin woman named Minjung, was used to the two of them, and came over with two mugs of steaming black coffee the moment they sat down.

“You boys doing alright?” she asked, resting her weight on one hip.

“As always,” Jinki replied with an exaggerated smile.

Minjung rolled her eyes and turned to Kibum. Her lips turned to a frown. “Kibum, you’ve got paint in your hair,” she sighed, reaching out to run her fingers through his bleached hair. She smacked the side of his head lightly and tsked. “Come with me into the bathroom. I’ll clean you up.”

Jinki wolf-whistled, earning a sharp glare from Minjung. Kibum had little desire to wash up, but he was afraid of Minjung. He’d seen what that woman could do with a spatula and enough determination. He slid out of the booth and walked with Minjung into the women’s restroom, designed for only one person to use at a time. Minjung locked the door behind them and softly pushed Kibum to the sink. She flicked on the water and tested it with the underside of her forearm. When it had reached an acceptable temperature she turned to Kibum. “Stick your head in.”

He obeyed meekly, placing his head under the powerful stream of lukewarm water. Almost immediately Minjung’s hands set to work, picking desperately at his paint-marked strands.

After a few minutes, Kibum spoke up. “You know it’s basically impossible to get paint out of hair.”

“Maybe I should just shave your head then,” she grumbled in response.

Kibum shrugged as best as he could in his current position. “No complaints here.”

Minjung did not reply, so Kibum resigned himself to silence. His mind drifted back to the painting from earlier. He wondered if it was pleasing enough to try and sell. It had a bit of a gloomy aura, with the gray of the tree-woman’s skin and her distressed expression, but he thought the lavender dress maybe added a bit of elegance to the piece. Someone might buy it and think it had _meaning_.

The water ceased its pounding on Kibum’s scalp. “Wait a minute,” said Minjung from above. “I’ll be right back.”

Kibum heard her confident footsteps, followed by the door swinging open then closing. He hummed loudly to himself in no particular tune, staring at the bottom of the porcelain sink.

The door opened again and soon something soft fell on Kibum’s head. Kibum straightened and felt Minjung’s hands rub roughly against his scalp through the fabric, which fell over his eyes. Occasionally, he would catch glimpses through the rapidly moving fabric to see Minjung’s face scrunched in concentration, biting unknowingly on her lower lip. Kibum chuckled softly at the sight.

“What are you laughing about?” she asked almost automatically.

“You’re cute when you’re this focused.”

Minjung’s hands froze and Kibum caught a glance of the pink blush that rose to her cheeks. “Shaddup,” she replied, her voice successfully hiding whatever she was feeling behind her usual confident tone.

Kibum only laughed again. Minjung tore the fabric from his head--which he discovered was a t-shirt--and used it to whip his shoulder. “That’s as clean as I’m gonna get it,” she said, smacking him again. “Now let’s get out here.”

She pushed Kibum out of the bathroom and back into his seat. Jinki clicked his tongue and looked up at Minjung in mock disapproval. “You must be into some real kinky shit for him to come out that wet.”

“And you must have a death-wish,” Minjung replied immediately, slinging the wet t-shirt over her shoulder and sprinkling Jinki with a few droplets of water. “You make it sound like I wouldn’t slip arsenic into your coffee.”

“A sweet girl like you?” gasped Jinki as he wiped a few beads of water from his cheek.

“Try me.” She turned on her heel and headed toward the kitchen, scribbling down their usual order on her notepad and hanging it up on front of the grille before attending to the other customers.

Jinki raised his mug to his lips and winked at Kibum, who rolled his eyes in response.

“So, Kibum,” he said after his drink, his voice heavier now. Less cheerful. “What was that painting of anyway?”

“Same as always,” he replied, avoiding eye-contact by ripping open a pack of sugar and emptying it slowly into his mug.

There was a short pause before Jinki said, “painting what you see?”

“Painting what I see,” Kibum repeated into his now-sweetened coffee.

“Kibum.” Jinki’s voice was certain, but smooth. “Don’t you think you should try to get help for this? I mean seeing things…”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Kibum replied, looking up to face his friend, whose features were marked with concern. “They don’t do anything to me. It’s not like they talk to me and tell me to hurt myself or other people. They don’t do _anything_.” He could feel his muscles tightening in his neck, fists unwillingly clenching. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax before continuing in a controlled voice, “they just wait for me to paint them and as soon as I finish they vanish. Just like that.”

“When did you last sleep?”

Kibum looked away, as though avoiding eye-contact with Jinki would also help him dodge the question.

“Kibum.”

“Fuck, are you my mother or something?” Kibum hissed. “Over a day, okay? I haven’t slept in over a day.”

“And why is that?”

“Oh, are you my therapist now?”

“I just want to help,” Jinki sighed. “They keep you up. You can’t sleep from the second you see them until you finish painting. You’re barely eating or drinking and you never leave the apartment because once you finish one painting you collapse from exhaustion and then as soon as you wake up bam there’s another ‘model’ or whatever waiting for you.”

“You didn’t have any problem with my models back in college when they were naked girls,” Kibum muttered as he took another sip of his coffee.

“I’m being serious here.”

“And so am I,” Kibum responded. He ran his hand through his wet hair as he leaned slightly over the table. “I’m making more money than ever with these new paintings. They’re unique, so they sell. And you and I both know I need the money.”

“But Kibum, I don’t like--”

“No buts. It doesn’t matter. Once I have saved enough money to support myself when times get rough, we can have this discussion again. But for right now there’s nothing wrong with them, understand?”

Jinki stared at him for a while, searching his eyes, before exhaling and pressing his fingers to his forehead. “Fine,” he breathed. “But when you have made enough we are doing something about this. I hate seeing you this way.”

The rest of the meal transgressed rather ordinarily. Kibum forced himself to eat his entire sandwich even though he felt like bursting. He didn’t need to add a lack of proper nutrients to the long list of things Jinki could nag him about. Although Jinki probably knew well enough how little Kibum ate, and it wasn’t like this sandwich had any great nutritional value either…

Jinki picked up the tab and even covered the tip, which was always large when it came to Minjung. He would always tell her he’d give her even more if she let him place it in her bra, to which she would always smack his shoulder and threaten to cut off his balls or something--their usual banter. On their way out, she placed a wet kiss on Kibum’s cheek and told him to take care of himself. He promised he would.

Jinki dropped him off in front of his studio. “I’ll come to get you tomorrow so we can set up for the exhibition. Probably around noon.”

“Sounds good,” Kibum replied.

“Please try to take care of yourself and get some rest. You’ll sell better if you can talk to the guests and not look like you’re dying.”

“Got it, boss.”

Jinki’s lips pulled into a half-smile as he squeezed Kibum’s shoulder reassuringly before making his way down the steps from Kibum’s studio. Kibum watched him leave, waited until even the echo of his footsteps could not be heard, then entered his apartment.

He stood quietly in the semi-darkness for some minutes, never moving from his spot just before the door. He searched the room for any hazy figures hiding in corners or beneath furniture. There was no point in that, though, as the figures were usually obvious and he could always feel when they were there. Air would feel heavier in his lungs, his skin would twitch with nervous energy, and he would become painfully aware of his own heartbeat in his chest. None of these symptoms were present and he saw nothing, so after those few minutes he decided he must be alone.

His studio was one large main room wherein he kept all his art supplies and spent his days painting as well as a neglected kitchenette in which he cooked nothing--all he really needed was a microwave and sometimes that was a stretch too. Then there was his bedroom off to the side, connected to his bathroom. He walked into his bedroom and pulled off his t-shirt and jeans, leaving them in a crumpled pile on the floor.

Climbing beneath his covers in just his boxers, exhaustion set heavily into his limbs and in just a few moments he was lost in a deep slumber.

**

Kibum awoke slowly, groggily. The heaviness following such a deep sleep felt almost foreign. It sent his head spinning and stomach rolling to the point where he leaned over the bed and prepared himself to vomit. _I should probably eat better_ , he thought after the dizzying feeling had reduced significantly. _That sandwich was the first thing I'd eaten in days, and it was covered in grease. A salad wouldn't kill me, would it?_

He reached for his phone on the nightstand, blinking at the sudden brightness. It was past eleven am, meaning he had less than an hour before Jinki arrived. He sighed, placing his phone back down as he wondered what he should do.

Going back to sleep wasn’t an option. He had probably slept for over sixteen hours, and both his stomach and head were not fully calm yet.

So he stared up at the ceiling, propping up his head with one bent arm while the other was flat against his bare abdomen. He wasn’t hungry, but perhaps Jinki’s nagging the previous day had gotten to him, as he found himself wondering what food he had stashed in his apartment somewhere. The only answer that came to him was a pack of likely-stale potato chips, but even then he couldn’t remember where he had stored them, so he rolled onto his side to stare at the wall.

Kibum picked up his phone again. Only five minutes had passed.

Sighing, he pushed himself onto his feet--a little too quickly. After the brief wave of dizziness had passed, he wandered out of his bedroom. _Maybe something appeared overnight_ , he thought to himself. But there was no weight in his chest, no prickling on his eyelids: meaning his search would be pointless. He was fully aware of this, but still diligently investigated every dark corner and cabinet in his home and managed to eat up a quarter of an hour. His quest for food, although not on the forefront of his mind, was also unfulfilled.

Meandering back into his bedroom, Kibum fought off a shiver. Mornings were cold in his apartment; it was usually cold twenty-four-seven in his apartment, as he blocked off the windows and had earnestly forgotten how to use the thermostat. He pulled a large stained t-shirt over his head, so large it reached midway down his thighs, and threw his body back on the bed, pressing his face into his pillow as he waited for time to tick by.

A knock came to his door, spurring Kibum to roll onto his side and stare at his bedroom wall. He opened his door to no one aside from Jinki, and left the apartment only when Jinki made him. Once he had almost had his electricity shut off after he ignored the bill, rotting away in his mailbox on the main floor until Jinki had taken it upon himself to empty it. True to form, Kibum ignored the knocks as he scratched absentmindedly at his stomach.

Whoever it was knocking was not a very determined soul, as they gave up after only five or six raps on his door.

Then, as though to fill the new-found silence, Kibum’s phone began to ring. This meant the person knocking was Jinki, who would always call to make Kibum let him in. Sighing, Kibum rolled off the bed and made his way to the front door. As he approached, he noticed he had forgotten to lock it the day before and almost yelled for Jinki to open it himself, but the thought of Jinki scolding him for such a careless action, which he had done before, held him back.

“You look like shit,” Jinki groaned when Kibum let him inside. Jinki, on the other hand, was dressed smartly in a white button down with a black vest overtop, his black hair combed neatly back.

“Good morning to you too,” replied Kibum as he directed Jinki into his apartment with a flourish of his hand.

“Did you shower?”

“I believe I have a pleasant natural musk.”

Jinki narrowed his eyes at Kibum from where he was now standing at the one table in Kibum’s apartment, which sported a plethora of paint tubes and brushes as well as blank canvases. He rested two styrofoam coffee cups on the table and, pressing his hands flat against its surface, moaned desperately. “Kibum, you can’t make anything easy can you?”

“My greatest joy in life is making you miserable,” Kibum chortled.

Jinki shot him a sharp glare. “You know I’m actually starting to believe that.” He turned his usual chair around and pulled one leg over, effectively straddling it. He leaned his chin against the back of the chair. “You can have your coffee after you shower, then. You’re lucky I’d taken it upon myself to set up some of the exhibition last night so we have some time to waste today.”

He flashed Kibum a piercing glare. “And by that I mean enough time for you to shower...and maybe a hair-cut.”

Kibum scowled, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t think we have time for that today.”

“We have to. There’s paint in it,” Jinki retorted as he picked up his coffee from the table and took a sip. “No arguing. You should show me more respect anyway. You know I don’t get paid to do this.”

“Most mothers don’t get paid.”

Jinki’s cheeks puffed as he almost spat out his coffee, but he managed to hold himself back and swallow. ‘I’m not your mother. Christ, I’m only three years older than you.” He exhaled, “just take your shower, Kibum.”

Kibum shrugged his shoulders, realizing that his teasing may have gone too far. Jinki wasn’t his mother, just a friend who had to take care of him because Kibum couldn’t do it for himself. And not only was it Jinki who kept Kibum fed, showered, and exposed to sunlight as well as other human beings, but he was practically his manager too. He was the one who organized all his exhibitions, went shopping for paints and other supplies, advertised, generated prices, oversaw sales--and he did it all for free.

The two had met in university, where Kibum was an art major while Jinki had just entered law school. It was an unlikely friendship, but somehow the two worked. Their sharp tongues led to some interesting conversations outsiders may have thought of as arguments, but were nothing more than daily exchanges between the two. Kibum had been different back then, before he started seeing things. More energetic, more willing to laugh loudly and unashamedly, and this energy made Jinki’s life exciting; made him see every day in a different color.

Jinki had been there when the visions started. Jinki had held him when he cried, scared to death of the horned and scaled cat-like creature that had appeared in his room. Jinki had sat next to him as he painted it, if only to show him what it looked like, and Jinki was the one he had hugged with relieved tears flowing from his eyes when it disappeared. Jinki had been there always, had helped him transport his painting supplies from place to place, wherever the figures decided to appear. And it was Jinki who had tried with the best of his ability to keep the other students from thinking of him any differently.

“He’s just inspired.” “Nah I think this hallway is a good place for painting. Lots of light, ya know?” “Who wouldn’t want a painting of a creepy old man? It would certainly be useful for giving your mother a heart attack.”

And then it was Jinki who had defended him when he found himself on the wrong end of a lawsuit. Jinki, fresh out of law school, had taken on Kibum’s defense pro-bono when he was accused of stealing a fellow student’s manuscript for their upcoming novel and making a portrait of the main character. Kibum had never before seen this student and knew nothing about the character he had supposedly drawn. Except Kibum had captured every detail about this character, even the small scar just below his hairline and the streak of gray in his blonde beard, so coincidence was a hard argument. Eventually the charges were dropped after Kibum gave the painting to use as a cover for the novel for free, a deal to which the future author had agreed immediately.

Jinki had taken care of Kibum, even as the latter began to isolate himself further and further--because staying in his apartment meant the figures only appeared in his apartment, which was much easier than dealing with them outside.

Kibum showered quickly, the water streaming down his back making him almost uncomfortable. He got the slightest enjoyment out of washing his hair though, the foamy soap making it pliable and soft to the touch. He crafted for himself a pair of horns, then a mohawk, then slicked it back like he was a mobster or something.

A part of him wanted to defy Jinki when it came to his outfit for the day, but he knew his friend would only get even more irritated and tell him to change. So he slid on a pair of dark jeans which were too big for him and the only nice shirt he owned: a plum-colored button-down. Tucking the shirt into his jeans didn’t help much with how big they were on him, but he searched all throughout his room and couldn’t find a belt.

“Are you done yet, Kibum?” Jinki’s voice sounded through the closed door leading to the main room.

Kibum nodded before realizing Jinki couldn’t see him and shouting back, “Almost!”

“Bring a comb with you,” he yelled, “and a towel. I’ve got some snipping to do.”

“Okay,” Kibum replied as he continued buttoning up his shirt. When that was taken care of, he grabbed a comb and hand-towel from the bathroom.

Jinki stood from his chair when Kibum arrived, spinning it around with one hand, the other holding a pair of scissors he had found in the mess on Kibum’s table. His eyes were smiling as well as his lips, allowing a wave of relief to flood Kibum’s senses; Jinki wasn’t upset with him, despite what he had said earlier.

Kibum handed him the comb and towel before sitting down on the chair. Jinki draped the towel dramatically over Kibum’s shoulders. He pressed the now-cold coffee into Kibum’s hands. “Try not to get any hair in it.”

“Isn’t that your job?” Kibum quipped back. “As the one cutting my hair?”

“Nope,” Jinki chuckled as he walked around Kibum and began to comb through his hair. “I’m perfectly fine with you choking on your own hair.”

“You’re cruel.”

Jinki snorted, pulling hard on a knot and making Kibum hiss in pain. “I wouldn’t say anything if I were you. It’s clear who has the upper hand in this situation.”

Kibum shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his cold coffee before sticking out his tongue in disgust. He decided not to comment, as Jinki was working diligently at a knot on the back of his head. Having someone touch him felt good, like how Minjung’s hands the day before had managed to put him at ease. The soft snip of the scissors made Kibum smile just a bit. “Give me a mohawk,” he muttered.

“I’m far from skilled enough for that,” Jinki replied, snipping off a few paint-streaked strands. “My goal is just to keep you from looking too stupid.”

“We could just shave it all off. My hair is so ruined by all the dye I couldn’t care less about it.”

Jinki was quiet for a moment, the light crunches of hair giving way to the scissors echoing through the apartment.

“I like your hair,” he mumbled finally. “Do you remember the first time you dyed it? You bleached it first.”

“It hurt so bad I thought I was going to die.”

“But the pain went away and you dyed it pink and everyone wanted to touch it because it looked like cotton candy,” Jinki elaborated. “Do you remember that?”

Kibum thought briefly, but no such memories resurfaced. “Not really.”

“What about when you dyed it black with white stripes? Or maybe white with black stripes?”

A smile played at Kibum’s lips. “Everyone called me a zebra.”

Jinki chuckled. “I liked that one.” He paused. “I think you should dye your hair again...this color is kind of boring.”

“What color?”

“Hmm.” Kibum could almost hear him wetting his lips. Jinki knew what he wanted to say, but was taking his time forming the words.

“Maybe…,” Jinki breathed. “Maybe pink again.”

Kibum chewed at his lip, picking at the sleeve on the coffee cup. “Maybe.”

**

They arrived at the studio where the exhibition would take place in about three hours, all of the paint in Kibum’s hair snipped away and the knots undone. Jinki had removed his own belt and poked an extra hole in it to fit around Kibum’s hips.

When they entered the studio, Jinki pulled from his briefcase a stack of papers and laminated cards. He handed Kibum the cards, each of which contained a thumb-nail printing of one of his paintings and its title, accompanied by its price, which ranged from about 60,000 won to the equivalent of a used car. Jinki named all the pieces, because he was the one who researched what they were. About thirty-six paintings were to be displayed, all made by Kibum over a period of about one year.

“Were you able to find everything?” Kibum asked, flicking briefly through the set.

“There were some book or TV show characters, so I just left those in my apartment. As for everything else, I was able to trace its source and found out it was okay, mostly myths and stuff, except the boxing squirrel and the old man,” said Jinki as he grabbed the stack of papers and placed his briefcase on a small table near the entrance, which would soon be filled with photo-card copies of Kibum’s paintings and brochures about his life, paintings, and website, which Jinki also managed.

“Should we still exhibit them?” Kibum asked, rubbing his fingers along the laminated cards.

Jinki shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

Kibum chewed on his lip. “The old man can definitely stay, it’s just his back anyway so you can’t make out any of his features--could be any old man.”

“The squirrel is pretty unique though. It could be from a children’s book or something.”

“If it were from a children’s book you would have found out when you searched online.”

“I suppose,” Jinki responded. “Do you think it’s worth the risk, then?”

Kibum nodded. “Yeah. I like that one anyway. We should show off what a good job I did with the shading on its fur.”

Jinki chortled. “Got it. We should get to work putting these up. Just tape the title cards under the painting itself and I’ll go around with the descriptions. Like always.”

Kibum nodded, taking a roll of tape into his hands. The first card was for a massive chained wolf, dubbed _Fenrir_ by Jinki and his internet searches. The name was completely unfamiliar to Kibum, but this happened more often than not, so he taped it to the wall and continued to the other paintings.

It took them about an hour to get everything up, walking from place to place across the studio to find the paintings described on their cards. When they had finished, Jinki occupied himself with helping the handful of servers set up rows of champagne flutes and the hors d'oeuvres while Kibum decided to make a lap around all the paintings.

 _Fenrir_ , according to the summary written by Jinki on the other card, was a massive wolf that would help bring the apocalypse upon the world, if you had asked the ancient Norse people. The massive Japanese dragon, _The Eight-Forked Serpent_ , ate eight different daughters before he was slain by a storm god. _Impundulu_ was a massive South African lightning-bird of sorts--Kibum really liked how cleanly the lightning bolts came out on that one.

The first time Kibum had decided to search for his paintings on the internet had been a dizzying experience. But now that he had managed to wrap his mind around the fact that he was able to paint things he had no prior knowledge of, it had become a bit of a game. He wandered around the room, noting the country of origin for each of the painting’s subjects. After examining each painting, he found with a smile he had covered each of the inhabited continents at least thrice.

Jinki called him over to give him the usual run-down. “People will start arriving in about thirty minutes. Keep your calm, have a flute of champagne but don’t get drunk. I’m gonna try to stay close so if you need anything just give me the signal and I’ll be there. Study up on all the sources and remember what you paint.”

“Myths inspire me,” Kibum replied.

“You don’t paint what you see.”

“I don’t paint what I see.”

Jinki nodded and patted Kibum’s shoulder. “Good. Let’s sell a lot today.”

“Right,” Kibum replied.

Jinki pulled him into a tight hug. Kibum did not resist, instead wrapping his arms around Jinki and breathing in his cologne. It smelled like autumn, like the lingering sun on leaves holding onto their branches despite their reddening color. That must have been the artist in him; turning a simple cologne into such a clear image.

“I know it’s hard,” Jinki breathed into his ear, bringing Kibum back to reality. “But I’m here for you.”

Kibum tightened his grip. “I know.”

**

The exhibition started with a slow trickle of curious passerby. Kibum immediately knew they most likely wouldn’t be buying anything, but still offered them a smile as they entered. He kept his distance from them as they wandered, occasionally picking up snippets of their conversation. The myths were mostly unknown, and many of the paintings all seemed somewhat weird to them, even creepy. This was nothing Kibum hadn’t heard before.

Soon his regulars started pouring in, rich business people with an eye for strange art that kept track of his exhibitions via the website. Jinki and Kibum shook their hands warmly when they entered, the servers giving them champagne flutes and holding out plates of brie and crackers, slivers of cheese wrapped in pastrami or salami, small slices of quiche and mini dessert crepes. One purchased a painting of a Brazilian goddess named Yemanja immediately. There was a small, victorious smile pulling at Jinki’s lips as he pressed the SOLD sticker over the painting’s name card.

A few paintings more were sold over the next hour or so. The studio was soon filled with the light chatter of about two dozen guests. Jinki’s voice was louder than anyone else’s as a thousand and one compliments oozed from his lips about any painting a guest showed even a vague interest in. Although it was his job to advertise for Kibum, he did it in such a persuasive and well-mannered fashion it was sometimes hard to remember that he was Kibum’s “manager” and not just some eccentric art-lover.

Kibum was doing alright. Most of the customers knew him well enough to keep conversations short and direct, and he was familiar with them enough to be in a state of relative ease. They kept their topics about the paintings, to which Kibum could respond skillfully enough. “I’m very inspired by mythology.” “But discomfort is a good feeling sometimes. Reminds us that we’re not living in some plushy world.” “I just paint day and night, sir. It’s the only thing I’m really good at.”

Kibum was leaning against an empty wall, casually sipping at what was his third glass of champagne as he watched Jinki engage in a healthy debate concerning a painting of a beautiful huntress in a dark purple dress. A smile played at Kibum’s lips, imagining all his works hanging up somewhere they would actually be enjoyed, rather than gathering dust in his apartment.

He was drawn out of these happy thoughts by a familiar voice.

“Kibum?”

Looking up, he noticed a new figure standing in the studio by the door. Despite the familiarity of his voice, Kibum failed to recognize this man in the slightest. He was about the same age as Kibum, with black hair falling softly over his wide, curious eyes. He had three piercings in each ear, filled by small silver hoops and black studs. The sleeves of his black button down were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the veiny flesh of his forearms and hands while the shirt was clearly tight on the muscles in his chest.

The man was staring right at him, a smile on his plush lips. He approached Kibum with hurried steps. Discomfort flooded Kibum’s veins, tightening his heart. He raised his hands to his neck, scratching the junction of his jaw and throat. That was it. That was the signal Jinki Jinki _please_.

The man was now just a step away from him. “Kibum! Kibum, don’t you recognize me?”

Kibum shook his head, his voice cracking. “N-no, sorry I don’t but--”

“Come on Bum, you know me! Sooyoung’s party? Eight years ago or something?”

Kibum blinked, his mouth falling open in shock. The man must have noticed the recognition marking Kibum’s face, as his eyes lit up even more. But before the two were able to say anything else, Jinki was between them.

“Hello sir,” he said with his usual polite smile. “What can I help you with? Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

The man shook his head, obviously caught off guard by Jinki’s intrusion. His eyes fluttered desperately between Kibum and Jinki. “No, I’m okay I just, um, wanted to talk to Ki--”

“J-Jonghyun?” Kibum was finally able to say. Jinki turned back to him, brow furrowed in confusion while the man-- _Jonghyun_ \--smiled even wider, his cheeks rounding.

“Yeah!” he said excitedly. “Bum! It’s been so long.”

“You know this guy?” Jinki asked incredulously.

Kibum nodded numbly, the shock spinning his brain around in circles. “Yeah,” he exhaled. He motioned open-handed toward Jonghyun. “Jinki, this is Jonghyun.”

Jinki gave a short nod before turning to Jonghyun with a wider, but still distant smile.

“Jonghyun, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Lee Jinki, Kibum’s friend and manager.”

Jonghyun accepted his hand and the two shook. Awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet you,” Jonghyun said, not impolitely but certainly curtly. He turned his attention back to Kibum. “Are these all your paintings?”

“Yeah,” Kibum breathed.

Jonghyun whistled, resting his weight on one hip and digging his hands into his pockets, thumbs sticking out. “Wow, funny to think that your marker tattoos would become something like this.” He smiled at Kibum. His grin hadn’t changed, despite the almost decade that had passed since the two had last seen each other. It was a bit crooked and displayed his lower teeth as though they were something impressive. “I think I’m gonna take a look around and enjoy this.”

“S-sure,” stuttered Kibum.

Jonghyun flashed him a wink before walking off. Kibum’s eyes followed him as he walked to the other end of the studio, stopping before one of Kibum’s more impressive works.

“So,” began Jinki as he leaned against the wall beside Kibum. “Who is Jonghyun?”

“Someone I used to be friends with a decade ago,” Kibum breathed, keeping his eyes trained on Jonghyun as he politely declined a champagne flute from a server.

Jinki clicked his tongue. “I feel like there’s more to it than that.”

Kibum sighed. “We may have made-out once,” he said in a low voice. “But I haven’t seen him at all since that. I didn’t even recognize him at first.”

**

 _The latter statements were_ truths, but the first was a lie. Because they had made-out more like four dozen times.

Jonghyun was the first boy he had ever kissed.

The two first met at Sooyoung’s party right at end of senior year. Sooyoung and Kibum had been friends since they were kids even though they had attended different high schools. He knew next to no one at the party for this reason, and while usually this wouldn’t have been a problem, as Kibum at that age had enough energy to infiltrate any group of people and have the time of his life, but on that day Kibum just wanted to get drunk and drown in his own now girlfriend-less misery.

And he did both, drinking so much cheap alcohol he vomited outside. Somewhat sobered by the burning in his throat, he walked about fifty feet away from the party, where he had collapsed in the grass on his back and, placing his forearm over his eyes, began to cry. His sobs were swallowed up by the music still blaring loudly from the house despite the distance, so he wailed unashamedly into his sleeve, fingers digging deeply into the earth around him. He would have gone on for hours had it not been for the soft thud that sounded beside him.

He pulled his arm away from his eyes to notice a guy seated right beside him, knees bent slightly as he stared up at the sky. Kibum sniffled as quietly as he could and made to stand, but his head was still spinning from the alcohol so all he could do was sit up. Like this, he and the other boy were right next to each other.  
  
“Rough night?” the boy asked.

Kibum licked his lips, keeping his eyes focused on the sky in front of him. His silence was enough of an answer.

“I’m Jonghyun. I go to college in Seoul.”

Kibum sniffled. “Kibum. I just graduated from high school.”

“Ah,” Jonghyun exhaled.

There was a pause. Jonghyun’s presence scratched at Kibum’s mind as he wondered what this guy was doing there, why he couldn’t just leave and let Kibum scream into the night unheard like he wanted to.

Eventually Jonghyun spoke up. “You know, sometimes it’s nice to talk to people about your problems. And since we don’t know each other I won’t judge you because of what you say. And I’ll be going back to Seoul for school so I won’t be around to spill your secrets to anyone here.”

Kibum bit his lip. “Why should I tell you anything? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“You can either talk to me or sit here quietly. You’re drunk and I’m not the kind of guy to leave intoxicated and emotional people by themselves.” His voice was solid, unwavering.

Kibum became determined to say nothing, but the presence of the other boy began to weigh heavily on his mind and lower his defenses. “My girlfriend,” Kibum hiccupped after some time, looking down at his hands. “She dumped me today.”

Jonghyun waited for Kibum to continue.

“I gave her my phone today to look something up and I didn’t realize I had left up…” Kibum paused, his breath shaking.  Then his words were a blur, uninterrupted by even the briefest inhale or exhale. “I left up what I had watched last night and she saw it and got angry with me and threw my phone and screamed and walked out and she’s not responding to my text messages or my calls and she had her brother come to my house and call me a fag and tell me to never to talk to her again and I, I…” Here his sobs came again, racking his whole body. He quickly collected himself, using the back of his hand to wipe the tears quickly away from his cheeks and taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

Another pause, this time broken by Jonghyun. “Were you watching gay porn?”

Kibum stared down at his hands. “Yeah,” he said in a small voice. “I was just curious…”

“Do you think you’re gay?”

To say the question was unexpected would be a lie, but Kibum was still not prepared to hear it. “I-I don’t know? I know I like girls. I just...I just think I like boys too.”

Jonghyun said nothing and Kibum simply used his energies to slow down the pace of his heart. He didn’t know why he was spilling his guts to a stranger and it failed to make him feel any better, just brought tears faster and faster to his eyes as confusion welled up in his stomach and a strange mixture of anger and sadness pulled at his heart.

Then Jonghyun spoke. “Do you want to find out?”

The question was so odd it brought Kibum’s eyes up to face Jonghyun straight-on. His heart skipped a few beats as he noticed how attractive this stranger was. It wasn’t the first time he had felt attraction toward a man--hence his video search the previous night--but it was the first time he had ever found himself so close to one. And the alcohol wasn’t helping either. His eyes dropped down to Jonghyun’s lips, and fuck he ached for them.

“W-what do you mean?” Kibum stuttered, his gaze locked

“Well, I like boys and just boys,” Jonghyun elaborated in a slow, agonizing voice. Kibum watched his lips move, curving around each syllable. _Fuck_ … “So I’d be okay if you wanted to test out your attraction on me.”

Kibum swallowed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Whatever you want to do.”

Kibum wasted no time, his heart and mind screaming as he crashed his lips against Jonghyun, so hard their teeth smashed together.

“Fuck,” Jonghyun gasped when Kibum pulled away, realizing his mistake. “You don’t have to kiss me any differently than you would have your girlfriend just because I’m a man.”

“Sorry,” Kibum whispered. He looked up at Jonghyun’s eyes. “Can I try again?”

Jonghyun sighed. “Yes, but be more gentle this time.”

Kibum nodded, wetting his lips as he slowly leaned forward to peck Jonghyun’s. His chest burned as he kissed him softly again and again. Jonghyun reacted to each one in kind, only matching Kibum’s intensity rather than leading him forward. It was up to Kibum to speed up the pace.

With shaking hands, he reached toward Jonghyun and balled his fists around his shirt, making Jonghyun chuckle. Kibum took this as an opportunity to slide his tongue into Jonghyun’s mouth. He seemed a bit taken aback, but after a moment’s pause was running his tongue along Kibum’s. The two pulled apart later for air, and Kibum could feel the desperate rise and fall of Jonghyun’s chest against his fists.

Kibum adjusted his position to face Jonghyun head on. He wrapped his legs around Jonghyun’s body, inching closer. “Turn toward me,” he whispered.

Jonghyun nodded and turned so he was facing Kibum. Before he could find a place to tuck his legs, Kibum grabbed hold of them and guided them around his own body before pulling Jonghyun even closer. “Fuck, you’re aggressive,” Jonghyun breathed, staring at Kibum with flushed cheeks.

Kibum smirked, astonished by the adrenaline that pumped through his own veins. He pressed his hands flat against Jonghyun’s chest, now much closer and accessible. He flicked his tongue within Jonghyun’s mouth and the other went still, letting Kibum take complete control.

Untangling their legs, he pushed Jonghyun slowly to the ground, the other boy giving way and allowing Kibum to crawl over him once Jonghyun was flat against the earth. Kibum pushed himself forward on his hands and knees to suck on Jonghyun’s lower lip. He whined desperately, making Kibum’s toes curl.

Jonghyun lifted his legs around Kibum’s hips, holding him in place while his hands did the same at Kibum’s neck. Kibum had no intention of moving, focusing instead on the feeling of Jonghyun’s tongue flitting against his own as their lips met again and again.

Kibum wanted to go farther, tired of just kissing him. He liked Jonghyun under him, liked how pliant and willing he was, how his fingers would tighten and his legs would shake with each needy breath that escaped his lips. Kibum itched to touch him, so he lifted his right hand from the earth and carefully made his way to Jonghyun’s groin.

Jonghyun gasped, his eyes shooting open. He pushed Kibum up, separating their lips. He was breathing hard, sweat beading on his forehead and running down his reddened cheeks. “Kibum that’s...that’s too far,” he breathed.

“Oh,” Kibum muttered, pulling his hand away from where it had grazed Jonghyun’s crotch. “I’m sorry I--”

Jonghyun bit his lip. “I would normally say yes, but we’re both kinda drunk right now and I’m a bit of a screamer.”

Kibum’s heart stopped. “W-what?”

“A screamer,” Jonghyun repeated. “I’ll get really loud the second you start touching me for real, and I don’t want anyone to hear. And they will hear. I don’t know about you, but getting caught at this party isn’t very high on my wish list right now.”

Kibum nodded, his skin twitching with the thought of Jonghyun screaming beneath him. “Can we keep making out though?”

Jonghyun sighed, smiling weakly. “Again, I’d normally love to, but if we go any farther I will be screeching for your dick inside of me.” He chuckled at Kibum, who felt all the blood drain from his face. “Sorry, that was a bit cruel.”

He loosened his legs around Kibum, who took it as his signal to push himself away from Jonghyun and sit up straight beside him. Jonghyun stayed on his back for a few minutes longer, tapping his fingers absentmindedly to the bass still pumping from the party. Kibum timed his breaths to its rhythm in an attempt to calm his breathing and keep his own cock from hardening further.

When Jonghyun sat up, Kibum took note of his lips, swollen and red.

Jonghyun reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Do you want to do this again?”

Kibum responded without the slightest hesitation. “Yes.”

Jonghyun smirked, tapping on his phone with his thumb. “Good, because I do too.” He handed his phone over to Kibum, who rapidly typed in his contact information before handing it back to Jonghyun. “I’ll be here for about two months before I go back to Seoul.”

“Oh,” Kibum said, the word slipping out before he could even process it.

Jonghyun picked himself up from the ground and winked at Kibum. “I’ll text you,” he said, before turning on his heel and walking off.

**

Kibum stared at Jonghyun as he walked casually from painting to painting. Jinki had left to negotiate a few more sales after Kibum had repeatedly assured him that he was fine. The exhibition was only scheduled for a half-hour more and over half of the paintings had been sold. Some expensive ones, too. But Kibum’s focus remained on Jonghyun.

“Kibum, we sold the squirrel.”

Kibum shook his head back into reality before turning to face Jinki, who had crossed the room to speak with him, a bemused expression painted on his face.

“Really? That’s good. I liked that one,” Kibum replied dismissively, his eyes wandering back to Jonghyun.

Jinki shook his head. “No—well, yes we did sell it but that’s not the point.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small notebook he usually used to keep track of addresses and contact information for the purchasers. After hurriedly flipping through a few pages, he pointed at a quickly scrawled name. “Do you know this person?”

Kibum narrowed his eyes to decipher Jinki’s chicken scratch before shaking his head “Doesn’t ring any bells. Is she a regular?”

“Nope, she was just walking around with her six-year-old son and decided to come in and take a look,” he explained, tucking the notebook back into his pocket. “The second he saw the squirrel her son lost it. Could barely speak. His mother was shocked as hell too.”

Kibum's nose scrunched in thought. “Why?"

Jinki’s smile widened. “Apparently, you painted the kid’s imaginary friend. Amber, the fucking boxing squirrel, was brought to life by your hands.”

Kibum blinked. After opening his eyes, he realized he was still staring at Jonghyun's back. He tore his eyes away and faced Jinki.“Really? That’s the first time that’s ever happened.”

“So far as we know,” Jinki said with a shrug. “Either way, tonight has been pretty successful if I do say so myself. A woman over there has been eying your lightning bird for a while, so if I cut the price a bit she’ll buy, then we can get outta here.”

Kibum bit his lip. “Jonghyun is still here though.”

Jinki looked around, his eyes settling on the black-haired man, seemingly captivated by Fenrir. “Right, I totally forgot about him,” he sighed. He looked at Kibum through the corners of his eyes. “What exactly happened between the two of you?”

Kibum sighed. “I’ll tell you about it when this is over. I’m tired and I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Jinki nodded. “Okay. I’m going to talk to this woman and get that painting sold and her out of here. Do you think you can talk to Jonghyun?” He paused, searching for the proper words. “I’m pretty sure he’s here for you, and he's just looking at your art to be nice.”

“I never thought I’d see him again,” Kibum breathed. He looked up at Jinki. “But I think I’ll be okay. Just keep your eyes on me if I need you.”

“Got it,” responded Jinki. “The second you need me, let me know.” He took a deep breath and made his way over toward the woman, a large smile lining his voice as he asked her if she was interested in anything.

Kibum turned back to face Jonghyun, to find the other man staring at him. Kibum felt all the blood drain from his face. Jesus, had Jonghyun grown even more beautiful in the years they’d spent apart?

Now Jonghyun was approaching him, hands still in his pockets and fuck did he always walk like that? Hips first?

“It’s great to see you, Kibum,” he said, voice smooth and absolutely agonizing to Kibum’s ears. “You look like you’re doing well for yourself, since most of the paintings hanging up are sold already.”

Kibum shrugged, trying to ignore his pounding heart. Jonghyun had definitely gotten more beautiful. “It took a lot of work, but here I am, making it work in the big city,” he chuckled nervously. “What about you?”

“Less successful,” he explained with a bashful smile that made the natural upward curve of his lips even more noticeable. “I’m a barista on the opposite side of the city, that’s how I get most of my money at least. But today must be my lucky day, since a record company just offered me a deal...and I ran into you.”

Kibum pushed those last few words quickly to the back of his mind. He wasn’t going to think about that right now, instead spewing desperately from his lips an obvious question. “So you’re still trying music?”

Jonghyun nodded. “Yeah, of course. I’ve never really had much aside from my songs, anyway. Like you used to be the kid with only magic markers and your own skin to doodle on.”

Kibum sighed, pressing his fingers to his forehead. “You know, I can’t tell if I’ve changed since then or if I’m still the same.”

Jonghyun clicked his tongue. “I dunno, I don’t think eighteen-year-old Kibum could have done any of this. He was scared of lots of things.”

“I’m still scared of lots of things.”

The words spilled unwillingly from his lips, spreading unease through his veins. Why did he say that? God, this wasn’t turning out how he wanted but Jinki maybe Jinki Jinki--

Jonghyun reached into his pocket and tossed his phone playfully in his hand, drawing Kibum’s attention and lowering his fingers from the side of his neck.

“The old Kibum wasn’t too scared to give me his number. Are you scared of that now?”

Kibum stared at Jonghyun. Christ, Jonghyun was smooth-talking him, and he was much better at it now. His eyes were dark with determination, alluring in a strange and almost unwelcome way.

Kibum extended his hand. Was it shaking? Dear God, why was he doing this? Why was he letting Jonghyun’s eyes tell him what to do? “Not at all.”

He took Jonghyun’s phone into his hand and entered his own information before handing it back. Jonghyun accepted his phone back with a smile. “I’ll text you later, and we can catch up some time.”

“I’d like that,” replied Kibum with a nod.

Jonghyun nodded back. “That’s...good. Thanks. I’ll see you later, Bum. Nice exhibit.” He made his way toward the door, waving casually.

Kibum raised his own hand, feeling like a stone had settled in his stomach. “Later.”

The lightning-bat painting was sold minutes after Jonghyun left, and the exhibition’s doors were soon closed to the public. Kibum helped himself to another flute of champagne as Jinki directed the staff in packing away paintings, removing cards from the walls, and organizing Kibum's various promotional materials back into Jinki's bag. He left them to distribute the remaining food and alcohol among themselves as he took a final lap around the gallery, making sure everything was in order.

Kibum had hoped the alcohol would somehow alter his voice perception of time; allow him to practically blink and then find himself at home, with Jinki chowing down on a greasy midnight snack beside him. It seemed to do just the opposite, dragging seconds out into minutes, slowing the world's turn on its axis. Kibum just wanted to go to bed already.

“Ready to go?” Jinki’s familiar voice snapped Kibum to attention. His head bobbed instinctively up and down in affirmation even before he could fully comprehend Jinki’s question. Jinki extended a hand toward him, prompting Kibum to hand over his now-empty flute, which was then passed onto one of the servers. Slinging a lazy arm over Kibum’s shoulders, Jinki guided him out of the gallery and into his car. Kibum spent the roughly hour-long drive picking at his nails. He wondered briefly why his phone had not rung. Why Jonghyun had not texted him.

His stomach rolled at his own interest in his old friend. Sure, Jonghyun hadn’t necessarily been a bad memory, but he wasn’t a particularly good one, either. And there had been others in Kibum’s life, before the images became too real. There had been hook-ups in his college years: some boyfriends, girlfriends, and people who weren’t really either of the two. He knew more about his companions in one-night stands than he could remember about Jonghyun.

Kibum realized he could not even remember his last name. His teeth clenched down on his lip as he scoured his mind for this minuscule but important piece of information.

“Do you know his last name? Did I say it?”

Kibum had not even realized he had vocalized this question until Jinki responded with an inquisitive “hmm?”

Kibum licked his lips. “Jonghyun...I mean, did I tell you his last name?”

Jinki leaned forward, peering carefully out his window before making a left turn. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Ah,” exhaled Kibum.

“What is his last name?” asked Jinki after a minute of stifling silence.

Kibum scratched his cheek. “I can’t remember.”

Jinki made a popping noise with his lips. “Well, since he’s Korean, maybe Lee, or Kim, Choi, An….”  
  
Kibum bit down on his lip. None of them sounded right. Maybe he didn’t know Jonghyun’s last name. Maybe he had just always been Jonghyun.


	2. Coffee and Ice Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so here we are at chapter 2 <3\. I would say shit "gets real" here but tbh it doesn't hahah. Anyway. Same warnings apply, as before! Some parts of this chapter were really hard to write, but I hope they come out okay and ya'll like this??? So yeah here goes! Oh! Also this fic will probably 5 or six parts--probably 5 and an epilogue. Just so ya know.

_Four days after teenaged_ Kibum and Jonghyun first met, Kibum finally got a text from him.  
  
“ _Are you doing anything today?_ ”  
  
With fingers twitching from excitement, Kibum typed out “ _no._ ”  
  
He had not been expecting Jonghyun to text. Truthfully he had not been expecting to see him ever again, even though he wanted to. Even though Kibum wanted to kiss Jonghyun again.  
  
His phone buzzed. “ _Good_.”  
  
Another text followed a few seconds later, describing a route he should take from the local pond where families often had summertime picnics to their rendezvous location. He set out into the blistering summer heat after saying goodbye to his mother, as both of his parents would be leaving soon to go out of town.  
  
Straddling his bicycle, he made his way through the streets of his neighborhood at the most relaxed pace possible for a teenage boy about to meet for a lover’s tryst. Was that what this was? No, that couldn’t have been right. “Trysts” were for Romeo and Juliet, but for Kibum and the boy he knew nothing about--aside from his name and the taste of his lips--it was a gross misunderstanding.  
  
Yet, Kibum wasn’t exactly sure what their meeting would be like.  
  
Pulling out his phone to study Jonghyun’s text, he wiped the sweat from his eyes with his free hand, mumbling the directions quietly to himself before sliding his phone back into his pocket. He made his way off the main path toward a picnic table Jonghyun had mentioned and, true to his word, was just beside a somewhat-neglected footpath.  
  
Kibum followed this path until he reached the creek, which he walked alongside, heading downstream, for about five minutes until a small clearing came into view.  
  
But even before that, the sound of a guitar reached his ears. The notes didn’t seem to support any sort of melody. It was more like they were strummed and held out as long as possible, echoing as well as they could in the open space. The sounds mixed almost naturally with the hum of cicadas and the distant laughter of children, as though a forest was the proper place for a guitar's vibrato notes.  
  
When the clearing did come into view, Jonghyun was not hard to notice. He was leaning against one of the trees that lined the clearing, his legs outstretched flat beneath him. His guitar was held loosely, leaning back into the curve of his abdomen as his fingers strummed lazily at the strings, those of his left hand holding out the notes with a practiced, controlled tremor. He was dressed simply in a pair of torn jeans and a navy tank top, advertising a band Kibum had heard of but never actually bothered to listen to. Some indie group that had turned down a major record deal " _to maintain the authenticity of our music_ " or something pompous like that.  
  
As Kibum approached, he noticed Jonghyun’s closed eyes and half-opened lips. A strong desire to rush forward and press those lips against his own rose within him, pinched at his lungs; but he held back, instead standing just above Jonghyun as his fingers slid up toward the fifth fret with a slight, but not off-putting squeal. Jonghyun plucked a string and must have been pleased by the sound, as a smile pulled at the corners of his lips.  
  
Kibum smiled back, just a little. He stood there for a few moments longer, watching as Jonghyun plucked the same note a few more times before going back down five frets. Despite the relaxing notes meeting his ears, Kibum's heart was pounding almost painfully at his ribcage. Maybe it was the heat? It was a particularly hot day and he was standing out in the sun. Maybe he should sit down…  
  
He inhaled deeply, realizing he much preferred Jonghyun not yet aware of his presence. And it was pretty amazing that he wasn’t yet. Kibum bit down on his lip, churning his options about in his mind.  
  
After a few minutes of this confused thinking—if you could even call it that, as Kibum’s thoughts were thrown off a cliff each time Jonghyun changed notes or allowed a smile to grow on his face—he made up his mind. Clenching his hands into fists, he made his way to the tree beside Jonghyun’s and unceremoniously slid his back down it, landing rather unsatisfyingly and painfully on his ass. Heat rose to Kibum’s cheeks as he mentally cursed at himself for his clumsiness and complete failure at being even a little smooth. These thoughts, however, were assuaged when he looked up to see Jonghyun giving him a little smile.  
  
“You’re cute,” he said.  
  
Kibum’s fingers picked nervously at his fraying jean shorts, his tongue itching to speak but his mind completely devoid of words.  
  
Jonghyun plucked another note: a lower, fuller one that sent goosebumps traveling along Kibum’s arms. His eyes had moved away from Kibum. He stared blankly up at the blue and cloudless sky. The smile had not left his lips.  
  
Kibum adjusted his position, pulling his knees up to his chest in some strange attempt to calm himself. He licked his lips. “So,” he breathed. “What do you want to do?”  
  
Jonghyun was quiet for a few moments. Kibum wondered briefly if Jonghyun had not heard him or wasn’t paying attention to him and his fumbling words. This thought was vaguely comforting.  
  
Jonghyun plucked a high note. “What’s important to you, Kibum?”  
  
Kibum blinked. “Huh?”  
  
Jonghyun’s fingers traveled from where they had been resting on the tenth fret down to the fifth, where he laid his index finger flat across the fret and strummed a chord for the first time. Kibum knew little about music, his only qualifications for a good song being a) catchy or b) easy to dance, sing, or have sex to, but the chord had a strange effect on him, seemingly tying his intestines into a knot.  
  
“What have you got on you?” Jonghyun asked, angling his head to look at Kibum through one eye.  
  
Kibum furrowed his brow. “My phone and my wallet,” he said softly. “But I don’t have much money, only a coupl--”  
  
“That’s not what I mean.” Jonghyun’s voice was oddly sharp, making Kibum literally shake. Jonghyun must have realized what he had done, as he exhaled deeply and strummed a much easier-to-swallow chord, letting it echo a bit through the clearing before speaking again. His voice was soft, controlled. “I... I bring my guitar with me. Everywhere.”  
  
“Maybe you should learn how to play a ukulele,” Kibum chuckled, attempting to ease the tense atmosphere. “Easier to carry.”  
  
Jonghyun scoffed. “I used to have one, then I smashed it.”  
  
“Oh,” Kibum breathed, his insides twisting once more.  
  
Jonghyun swore under his breath. He lifted his guitar by the neck and for a short moment Kibum thought he was going to smash that one too. He instead rested it carefully on the ground beside him and pressed his hands to his face. “Ugh, that is not what I meant to say,” he groaned into his palms. “I mean, it’s true. But I don’t have a habit of getting angry and breaking things. It just happens sometimes and.”  
  
There he stopped, as though it were a perfectly normal place to end a sentence. He lowered his hands and looked at Kibum. “Sorry.”  
  
Kibum shrugged. “Nah, it’s okay,” he said, using the words not only to settle Jonghyun but also himself. Maybe this was a bad idea. Both he and Jonghyun had been drunk when they’d first met, and perhaps sober Jonghyun wasn’t a person he wanted to be around. “I mean, I was a mess the first time we met, so I think you’re okay.”  
  
Jonghyun leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree. Kibum’s stomach flipped when he noticed the grin pressing against his cheeks. “I guess you’re right,” he sighed. He looked over at Kibum. His gaze removed all doubt from Kibum’s mind, desire rising in his form and pulling at his every limb.  
  
“Do you want to kiss me?” asked Jonghyun playfully.  
  
Kibum nodded.  
  
Jonghyun extended an arm toward Kibum, who took it as a signal to push himself to his knees and lean in.  
  
Jonghyun closed his eyes and accepted his kiss. Kibum felt hands wrap around his ribcage, then pull him gingerly forward. He shuffled on his knees until they touched Jonghyun’s side, but Jonghyun did not stop pulling him. He lazily dragged his hands down Kibum’s abdomen, stopping at his thigh and lighting Kibum’s skin aflame. He curved his hands around the back of Kibum’s thigh, pulling it toward him.  
  
Kibum’s heart gave up briefly when he recognized what Jonghyun was trying to do, his lips pausing against Jonghyun’s before swinging one leg over the boy. Jonghyun groaned happily into Kibum’s lips, sending shivers along his spine. He tossed his hands carelessly over Kibum’s shoulders, holding him close. Kibum closed his eyes and pressed his tongue into Jonghyun’s mouth, their tongues meeting and sliding against each other as a moan rose from the back of Jonghyun’s throat.  
  
Kibum lifted one hand to twist his fingers in Jonghyun’s hair, the other pressing against his chest. Jonghyun’s hips bucked beneath him, sending off alarms in Kibum’s head as he felt heat pool between his--  
  
And then Jonghyun’s hands were pushing him away. Kibum’s eyes shot open and a loud exhale escaped his lips. Jonghyun was still breathing heavily beneath him, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Wh--”  
  
“You can’t already be...” Jonghyun cut him off, bringing one hand quickly down from Kibum’s chest toward his danger zone. Kibum’s heart clenched in panic as he untangled his hand from Jonghyun’s hair to bat it away, but the other was too quick, his fingers wrapping tightly around _the pack of markers_ in Kibum’s pocket.  
  
Kibum’s hand froze in mid-air as Jonghyun blinked confusedly. He rolled the markers, stored in a plastic bag Kibum had nicked from his kitchen, between his fingers before pushing his hand into Kibum’s pocket and lifting the markers up into the sunlight.  
  
“Oh,” Kibum breathed, relief flooding his system at the sight of the markers he had all but forgotten about.  
  
Jonghyun blinked up at him. “Why do you have markers on you?”  
  
“Why do you bring a guitar everywhere?”  
  
Jonghyun chewed softly at his lips. Kibum wanted nothing more than to take those lips back between his own, but decided it would be best to wait for Jonghyun to organize his thoughts; although Kibum had no idea why a pack of stupid magic markers would throw him for such a loop.  
  
Slowly, the fingers of Jonghyun’s free hand traced a ginger path up Kibum’s bare arm, and Kibum’s heart began to speed again. But rather than direct his hands to Kibum’s face or throw them back around his neck, he took hold of Kibum’s sleeve and lifted it to expose his shoulder.  
  
A blush seared Kibum’s cheeks, and he looked to the side ashamedly. “J-just ignore that,” he stuttered. “I got kinda bored.”  
  
Jonghyun said nothing, and the silence settled uncomfortably in Kibum’s gut. He turned back to face Jonghyun to try and read his expression, figure out exactly what he was thinking over this practically meaningless doodle. Jonghyun raised his eyes to Kibum and grinned, his cheeks rounding and eyes shining. “This is amazing,” he said, wonder lining his voice. “Did you draw this yourself?”  
  
His blush deepening, Kibum nodded. “Yeah. Last night.”  
  
Jonghyun traced his finger over Kibum’s “tattoo,” a winged lion with the tail of a scorpion and the face of a human he had done in magic marker. “I know this,” he said, lazily running his finger along the body of the beast. “It’s a manticore, right? From Roman mythology or something?”  
  
Kibum blinked. “Is it?”  
  
Jonghyun nodded. “I think so. I remember this from when I was little after I read a book about mythology. Gave me nightmares for weeks.”  
  
“I must have read about it on the internet or something then forgot,” said Kibum with a shrug. It seemed to happen often enough, if he were honest. Amazing how his brain could store images so creepily well but held onto mathematical formulas like a bar of wet soap.  
  
Jonghyun raised his eyes from Kibum’s arm and looked at him directly. “Do you always draw on yourself?”  
  
“Sometimes,” replied Kibum. “I don’t have a lot of money, so sometimes all I can get my hands on is magic markers. But, when I do have enough cash, I prefer painting.”  
  
A smile played with Jonghyun’s lips, and Kibum noticed just then the crookedness of his lower teeth. “So you carry your markers with you everywhere? Like my guitar?”  
  
Kibum chuckled. “Like your guitar.”  
  
Jonghyun’s smile widened. He rubbed both hands up and down Kibum’s arms, smiling up at him. Kibum grinned and smacked his shoulder playfully. “What are you smiling about?”  
  
Jonghyun leaned forward and kissed Kibum with a soft smack. When he pulled away, he removed his hands from Kibum and brought them to the hem of his own sleeveless top. Kibum’s cheeks burned. “W-what are you doing?”  
  
Jonghyun pulled his shirt over his head and flipped his hair, tossing the bundled fabric on top of the guitar beside him. Damn, he had a nice body. Kibum’s eyes hungrily scanned him, from the small mole between his collarbones to his strong pecs and defined abdomen, and his hipbones peeking out above the line of his jeans. Kibum’s entire body twitched with need, fingers itching to touch Jonghyun's tanned skin, his heart aflame.  
  
Jonghyun lifted Kibum’s chin, bringing his gaze from Jonghyun’s hips to his eyes. “Draw on me this time,” he said in a low, smooth voice that made the hair on the back of Kibum’s neck stand up.  
  
“Why would I do that?” Kibum asked, swallowing hard.  
  
Jonghyun’s other hand slid down to Kibum’s, taking hold of his wrist. He pressed Kibum’s palm flat against the left side of his chest, slightly sticky with sweat. Kibum’s eyes leaped up to Jonghyun’s. “Come on Bum,” he whined childishly. “Draw me something and I’ll kiss you more.”  
  
Kibum would have loved to skip the drawing and move to the kissing--in fact Jonghyun’s pouting lips were just screaming to be touched. But he lowered his head and opened the pack of markers, emptying it on Jonghyun’s lap. “You’re going to owe me,” he sighed, uncapping the black marker.  
  
“I’ll use lots of tongue,” Jonghyun promised.  
  
Kibum scoffed as he pressed the marker to Jonghyun’s chest. It was hard for the ink to stick because of the beads of sweat running down his skin, so Kibum reached for Jonghyun’s discarded shirt to wipe him off before returning to his task. When he had finished the basic outline of the sketch, he capped the black marker and reached for the dark green one on Jonghyun’s lap.  
  
Jonghyun raised his right arm to rub Kibum’s left lazily. “What are you drawing?” he asked.  
“It’s a surprise,” Kibum mumbled, keeping his eyes focused. He could feel Jonghyun’s heartbeat through his hand. And maybe it was just his imagination but it seemed a bit...fast.  
  
Jonghyun hummed in understanding, rubbing small circles into Kibum’s arm. Kibum was biting back a smile when he felt something vibrate against his thigh. He looked down at the bulge in Jonghyun’s front pocket, where he stored his phone. “You wanna answer that?” he asked, looking back up at Jonghyun.  
  
Alarm bells went off in Kibum’s head as he watched the color drain from Jonghyun’s face, his eyes wide and alarmed, mouth hanging open. His fingers were now digging harshly into the flesh of Kibum’s arm. “J-Jonghyun?” Kibum asked. “Are you okay?”  
  
Jonghyun bit down on his lip and nodded, closing his eyes. “Keep drawing, Kibum.”  
  
Kibum stared up at him for a little while longer, the phone still vibrating almost angrily beneath him. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself. He lifted his hand again and resumed drawing, doing his best to push the vibrations to the back of his mind all the while willing them to _just please stop_.  
  
And eventually they did. Kibum found it hard to resist exhaling in relief, ease settling back in his system. Jonghyun, on the other hand, did not relax, his face still tense and grip tight around Kibum’s arm. Again Kibum wanted to speak, somehow comfort this boy he knew nothing about, but he did not have the words. Capping the green marker, he exchanged it for a light purple one and was about to press it back to Jonghyun’s skin when the vibrations resumed.  
  
He paused for a moment, looking up at Jonghyun. His face had only twisted more, lips curling upward on one side and exposing his tightly-clenched teeth as his breathing grew more strained. There was no doubt in Kibum’s mind now that Jonghyun’s heart was pounding at three times the normal speed. Sweat pooled at his hairline, beads running down the side of his face and his chin.  
  
Kibum capped the marker and tossed it back to Jonghyun’s lap. He reached for Jonghyun’s shirt again and pressed it softly over his neck, shoulders, and face, wiping away the sweat. This small action eased Jonghyun just a bit, that pained look on his face relaxing slightly. Kibum wished he could do more, but he still had zero idea of what was going on: no clue as to how to properly react. He lifted his left hand to cup Jonghyun’s cheek, and the boy leaned into his touch, his hand traveling to rest atop Kibum’s.  
  
He ran his thumb tenderly over Jonghyun’s cheek as his other hand set itself back to drawing and that damn buzzing continued. He pressed the marker to Jonghyun’s chest, hoping he could draw Jonghyun’s attention to the feel nothing but the ink sinking into his skin, or perhaps the hand pressed against his cheek. He wanted Jonghyun to focus only on _him_ , to forget about that goddamn phone and just be with Kibum.  
  
The buzzing stopped, but Jonghyun’s expression remained unchanged. Kibum dragged the marker slowly along his skin, the motion simple enough that he could again run his thumb over Jonghyun’s cheek as he did so. He hummed softly, as comfortingly as that wordless sound could possibly be. Jonghyun’s teeth unclenched, jaw falling open. Kibum took this as a victory, his mind racing as he scrambled to figure out what he should do now.  
  
Then it started again.  
  
That damn phone.  
  
Jonghyun’s eyes snapped open, anger flashing in his dark irises. He dug his hand forcefully into his pocket, producing the phone and accepting the call with an audible press. He lifted it so quickly to his ear Kibum could have sworn he hit himself in the side of the head--and would have hit Kibum's hand if he hadn’t lowered it so quickly.  
  
“What do you want?” Jonghyun snarled, rage coating every syllable. His opposite hand was now digging so deeply into Kibum’s arm it hurt. His jaw was clenched, chest and abdomen shivering with each strangled breath. “What do you think I’m doing? Taking it deep up the ass, of course.” He tossed his head back, letting out a throaty, animalistic growl. “ _Yes_. Right there!” he screamed, voice quivering. “Fuck yes fuck fuck _fuck me harder fuck fuck_ fuckkkkk…”  
  
That last explicative was different from the angry, sexualized words that had rolled off Jonghyun’s tongue viciously and with ease. It was choked, crawled from his throat weakly. It was a strained hiccup that brought with it large, hot tears that slipped from Jonghyun’s eyes as the phone fell from his hand to the earth. He inhaled sharply, his lower lip quivering. His chest heaved as he took in desperate, shaking breath after desperate, shaking breath. Kibum felt Jonghyun’s grip release his arm, instead using it to wrap around his own abdomen protectively. His head dropped, and Kibum watched the tears fall directly onto his chest.  
  
Panic exploded in Kibum’s chest. What was he supposed to do? Jonghyun had just burst into tears in front of him and he had no idea how to handle this.  
  
Jonghyun lifted his hands to cover his face, his entire body shaking with every gasping breath. A single strand of saliva stretched from his upper to lower lip as he let out out a loud, pathetic cry. He whimpered weakly, the sound scratching at Kibum’s ears. He pressed the heels of his palms deeply into his cheeks. “Fu...damn why I I I damnnnn,” he practically slurred between needy gasps for air and pitchy whines. “I d-didn’t...didn’t...didn’t fucking...”  
  
Kibum’s heart pounded madly as he stared down at Jonghyun falling to pieces. Tears flowed unyieldingly from his eyes. Kibum watched as they pooled at his curves of his palms before overflowing down his cheeks. He tossed his head upward, facing straight toward the sky. His lips were pulled strangely to either side, exposing his slightly-parted teeth. His cheeks were fiery red, the skin around his lips and nose blotchy.  
  
Kibum couldn’t take this any longer. Seeing Jonghyun like this tore up his insides. He didn’t know Jonghyun very well, but he knew he was not a boy that should be crying. Not like this, overflowing with emotion to the point he couldn’t even form a coherent thought.  
  
“I-I-I fuu...please I just please…”  
  
Kibum reached toward Jonghyun’s shirt with his entire body, almost falling over in the process. Taking the fabric in his hand, he pressed it a bit too hard to Jonghyun’s chest, just above his collarbones. Jonghyun hiccuped, the breath knocked out of him.  
  
Kibum, teeth clenched tightly together, flexed his fingers to loosen his grip on the shirt. A new slur of indecipherable words slipped from Jonghyun’s slips, brought goosebumps to Kibum’s skin, but he pushed them to the back of his mind. Steeling himself, he slowly began to rub small circles into Jonghyun’s skin, wiping away the tears and sweat that had collected on the boy’s chest.  
  
Jonghyun’s cries did not stop, his chest still shook frequently, and occasionally helpless moans would slip from his lips and take residence in Kibum’s throat, where they collected and piled together into a knot. He wanted to bury his head in the crook of Jonghyun’s neck and cry along with him.  
  
Jonghyun needed him, though. Needed him to wipe his tears rather than add to them, or so Kibum told himself.  
Kibum moved up to his neck, making small circles up and down with the shirt. Kibum looked up at Jonghyun, and his heart broke again. With one hand he reached out toward his face, running a finger gingerly over the back of one of Jonghyun’s hands. At Kibum’s touch, Jonghyun eased the pressure he was applying to his own face, and Kibum wrapped his hand carefully around Jonghyun’s wrist. He lowered the boy’s hand to his lap before curling their fingers together.  
  
Next thing he knew Jonghyun was pressing up against him, sobbing into the crook of his neck, his other arm thrown around Kibum’s ribcage and holding him tightly. He moaned into him, pressing his face, hot and moistened by his tears, against Kibum. Kibum’s heart flipped. His instincts took over, telling him to wrap his arm around Jonghyun’s shaking form. And he did, and Jonghyun sobbed harder into him.  
  
Kibum rubbed one hand absently up and down Jonghyun’s ribs as the other made small circles in the back of Jonghyun’s hand. Jonghyun’s words were even more indecipherable than they had been previously, his voice muffled by Kibum’s form. God, this was awful and cruel and he didn’t know what else to do.  
  
These thoughts ran rampant in his mind as Jonghyun sobbed out the last of his tears over the next few minutes. He soon grew quiet, but did not relax his grip around Kibum, pressing their bodies close together until Kibum wasn’t quite sure where he ended and Jonghyun began.  
  
Eventually, Jonghyun lifted his head slowly from Kibum’s shoulder. Kibum felt lips press chastely on his cheek. Jonghyun’s face was still puffy and tear-streaked, eyes red and puffy while his upper lip looked sticky with the residue from his snot. It was a disgusting and oddly humorous picture. _Smile, damnit Kibum. Make him happy smile for god’s sake!_  
  
Jonghyun squeezed Kibum’s hand. “What are you smiling about?” Jonghyun asked, as teasingly as one could be with a stuffy nose and choked voice.  
  
Kibum hesitated for a slight second, deciding _I needed to cheer you up_ wasn’t the answer he wanted to go with. “You just look really gross.”  
  
Jonghyun scoffed. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”  
  
Kibum patted the bare skin of Jonghyun’s ribs comfortingly. He hadn’t realized how sleek with sweat the boy had become until just now. Or how sweaty Kibum himself was. The sun was beating down on them with vehemence and he could feel his own shirt adhering unpleasantly to his back.  
  
“Do you want to go to my place? My parents aren’t home right now.”  
  
Jonghyun made a strange snorting noise, produced from trying to breathe out disapprovingly from his far-too-stuffy nose. “I don’t think I can--”  
  
“That’s not what I mean,” Kibum cut him off. “I mean, yeah my parents aren’t home, but we can just play video games and eat pizza and watch a movie or something. We don’t have to do anything.” He noticed Jonghyun chewing nervously at the inside of his cheek, and added, “they won’t be back for three days. They’re going to a wedding out in the country. They’ve probably already left home by now.”  
  
It didn’t take much more persuasion for Jonghyun and Kibum to untangle their limbs from each other (Kibum’s chest felt oddly cold afterwards), the two standing opposite each other. Kibum handed Jonghyun his shirt. The boy started at it with dissatisfaction pulling at his lips as his hands worked to unravel the tightly balled fabric. He picked at a fresh stain by the neck hole disapprovingly.  
  
Kibum patted his shoulder. “We can throw it in the wash when we get to my place.”  
  
“I hope you can deal with seeing my beautiful bare chest then. There is no way in hell I’m putting on that crusty rag,” replied Jonghyun as he squatted and carefully placed his guitar in its case--one of those hard ones covered in stickers for indie and American bands. It looked like it belonged in the eighties, if Kibum was going to be frank. He folded his shirt into a small bundle and placed it atop the guitar before snapping the case shut and standing with it in one hand.  
  
“I could probably take you more seriously were it not for my smudged drawing,” Kibum sighed.  
  
Jonghyun looked down, pressing his free hand flat against the center of his chest to to get a good look at what was now a simple ink stain. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he exhaled. “But...what is this supposed to be?”  
  
“It’s supposed to be some flowers,” Kibum replied. “Sorry if it’s not what you were expecting, but nothing else was coming to my mind except flowers…”  
  
Jonghyun lifted his head and smiled toothily at Kibum. “Nah, they’re pretty. Well, at least I’d think they’d be if I hadn’t smudged them.” He pointed his hand at Kibum’s shirt, where the ink from his skin had transferred. “Sorry about that.”  
  
“It washes out pretty easily,” Kibum chuckled, scratching nervously at the back of his head. “Should we get going?”  
  
Jonghyun nodded. “Yeah.”  
  
The two set off and were halfway across the clearing when Kibum suddenly stopped, hitting his front and back Jean pockets loudly. “Give me one second,” he said to Jonghyun before turning back on his heel and rushing toward the tree. Jonghyun’s phone was still there, lying on the ground right where he had dropped it. Taking it into his hands, Kibum quickly powered off the device before shoving it into his pocket.  
  
**  
  
Kibum had told Jinki very little of his relationship with Jonghyun, if he was going to be honest. Jinki tried to force him a bit at first when they returned to Kibum’s apartment, pulled a guilt card or two, but when Kibum refused to falter he backed off. Kibum was not quite sure why he wanted to keep his summer with Jonghyun to himself. It wasn’t even like they had fulfilled any of the stereotypes for “unforgettable relationships,” aside from the fact Jonghyun was the first boy he had kissed. It was a summer fling, that was it.  
  
Kibum had probably just been a seasonal fuck to Jonghyun. And that was okay.  
  
Except why, eight years later, was he ripping Kibum to pieces with a simple look?  
  
Or with a text?  
  
 _Coffee?_  
  
Kibum received the message at six-thirty the morning after. Although he had been awake at that ungodly hour on a Saturday, shaken from his restless sleep by prodding, invisible fingers, his phone battery was dead. It was not until past three PM that the tiny mouse disappeared from its perch on his windowsill and Kibum put down his brush. He took a deep breath, letting a small amount of satisfaction flow through his veins as he lowered himself onto one of the few chairs in the room.  
  
He retrieved his phone from his pocket, heart sinking when the dark screen failed to glow with life. Jinki would be upset with him if he tried to call and Kibum failed to answer.  
  
Rushing into his bedroom, Kibum plugged his phone into the charger on his nightstand. He ran his hand through his hair, staring up at his ceiling and praying Jinki had not tried to get in contact with him.  
  
His eyes snapped toward his phone when it vibrated, automatically turning on once it’s battery was usable again. He waited for a brief second as a few notifications appeared, then, taking a seat on his bed, scrolled quickly through them. There was an email from Jinki from an hour or so ago: he had done all the math from the previous night and was letting Kibum know what paintings had been sold and how much they’d made. Relief settled in Kibum’s chest: e-mails meant he didn’t have to reply.  
  
There were a few messages from apps he hadn’t used in years but was too disinterested in deleting. His eyes grew unfocused as he scrolled down the list, sleep deprivation digging into his brain like nails.  
  
And there was that text from an unknown number.  
  
 _Coffee?_  
  
Kibum’s heart sank to his stomach.  
  
**  
  
Jinki was at his apartment twenty minutes later even though he lived forty-five minutes away in the regular Saturday afternoon traffic. His hair was damp, wetting the collar of his normally prim white dress shirt. Kibum had been standing in his kitchen, hands flat on the counter in front of him as he tossed his weight back and forth from his palms to his heels, when a knock came to the door. Kibum pushed himself up onto his feet but froze. He remained still until the ring of his phone reached his ears. It was okay.  
  
He opened the door for Jinki, who stepped inside and slid hastily out of his shoes. “Are you okay?” he asked in a single breath.  
  
Kibum nodded. “Yeah, of course I am.” He sighed when Jinki narrowed his eyes. “He hasn’t said anything else.”  
  
Jinki clicked his tongue in thought. “Your phone is in your room then, right?” he said, almost to himself, as he walked with heavy, determined steps into Kibum’s bedroom. Kibum followed meekly, scarcely lifting his bare feet from the floor.  
  
Jinki unplugged the cord from Kibum’s phone with unnecessary force, not even bothering to sit down as he tapped Kibum’s password and opened up the messages. He hummed, reading it over, then looked up at Kibum without raising his head. “Are you sure this is his number?”  
  
“I don’t know who else it could be,” Kibum breathed.  
  
“Did you guys say something about getting coffee together last night?”  
  
Kibum shook his head. “No. But he said we should catch up…”  
  
“Right. Let’s call then and find out if this is him.”  
  
Kibum’s heart flipped. “N-no!” he replied, much louder than he must have intended, as Jinki shot him a confused look. “I-I mean...I just, um, I--”  
  
Jinki waved his hand, dismissing Kibum. “I’ll call him on my phone, then.”  
  
Kibum ran a hand over his own arm, squeezing tightly just above his elbow. So tightly it hurt. “N-no, that won’t work either.”  
  
“Why not?’  
  
“You talked to him earlier…” Kibum began, his words sounding unwelcome and bitter on his own tongue. “He will recognize your voice.”  
  
Jinki exhaled through his nose. Kibum’s eyes dropped to the floor as his fingers dug deeper into his own arm. “What do you suggest we do then? Do you want to just assume it’s him and text?”  
  
Kibum shook his head. “I want someone he doesn’t know to call him.”  
  
“Gotcha,” responded Jinki. “I’ll call a friend of mine and have them call. Make up some excuse to get his name out of him.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“No problem.” Kibum raised his head as the springs of his bed groaned with Jinki’s added weight as he sat down. He had his own phone pressed up against his ear, Kibum’s held loosely in his other hand. Kibum dropped his hand from his arm, running his hand softly over it in an attempt to make the circular, reddish marks disappear. “I’ll make us some coffee,” he said weakly before shuffling out of the room.  
  
Kibum knew he did not have any coffee—he knew that his kitchen shelves housed only that single stale potato chip bag—but he felt he needed some excuse to leave and have more than just a little time to himself. He realized rather quickly that Jinki was probably one-hundred percent aware of the lack of just about anything in Kibum’s stores. A snake twisted in his gut. Great.  
  
He walked around in desperate circles, digging his fingers into his arms again. After a few minutes of this, he took two water bottles out of the fridge, all that remained of his last trip to a grocery story with Jinki some weeks ago, and reentered the bedroom just as Jinki hung up on his friend.  
  
“Congratulations, it is Jonghyun,” said Jinki. He extended a hand forward, and Kibum handed him one of the bottles.  
  
“Was your friend sure?”  
  
Jinki shrugged, his cheeks puffed up with water. He ran the back of his hand over his lips to catch any stray drops. “She called and asked for a Lee Jonghyun. She’s a smart one, knew his first name so tried to pretend she was looking for Lee Jonghyun that’s a doctor at some hospital—found out that this Jonghyun is actually a musician.” He took another sip and his eyes narrowed at Kibum triumphantly. “And he’s a Kim Jonghyun.”  
  
“O-oh,” Kibum exhaled.  
  
“Does that ring any bells?”  
  
Kibum bit his lip, his mind churning as he scoured his memories of that summer years and years ago. His heart began to speed as he recalled Jonghyun’s old smile, his almost unruly hair, and the taste of his lips…  
“N-no,” Kibum said finally. “But if he’s a musician it must actually be him.” He settled on the bed beside Jinki and wrinkled his nose. “You smell weird.”  
Jinki scoffed. “Thanks. I did just shower, you know.”  
Kibum shook his head. “I don’t mean that you smell bad. Just different.”  
  
“New shampoo,” Jinki replied with a shrug as he tossed Kibum’s phone back to it’s owner. “Anyway, what are you going to do?”  
  
Running his tongue over his lips, Kibum looked down at his phone. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Do you want to talk to him?”  
  
Kibum inhaled deeply. “I don’t know. I just...I don’t….”  
  
“Calm down for a second,” Jinki said, resting his hand on Kibum’s shoulder. “Okay? You don’t have to do anything.” Kibum nodded, and Jinki continued. “Take your time, Kibum, and think things over. Don’t worry about anything else, just your own thoughts. He texted you almost twelve hours ago, he can wait for a while longer. The question is: what do you want to do about that?”  
  
Five minutes later Kibum responded.  
  
 _Dinner?_  
  
**  
  
“Sorry it took me so long to reply,” said Kibum, shifting awkwardly in his seat.  
  
Jonghyun shook his head, his black hair shifting as he did so. “Nah, it’s okay, really. It was a long shot, anyway. You must have been busy since you just had an exhibition the other day.”  
  
They were seated in a restaurant two bus stops away from Kibum’s apartment. He had been there a few times before and Jinki was across the street loitering in a bookstore, his phone set on the highest volume.  
  
Jonghyun was seated across from Kibum, a little smile playing with his dark, soft lips that he probably didn’t even know about. He was wearing a white knit sweater and ripped black jeans--and the sweater was tight against his pecs. Kibum had felt heat rush toward his cheeks when Jonghyun had risen from his seat to greet him, but that heat had been replaced by unease when the waitress had given Jonghyun too big a smile with her eyes way too low.  
  
Kibum pulled at the sleeves of his new gray shirt, feeling compared to Jonghyun with his fucking smile and sparkling eyes.  
  
“You look hot, Kibum,” he said, his voice low and smooth.  
  
Kibum froze, all the heat in his body running in a thousand and one different direction. “O-oh o-oh, I um, um...you look good too, Jonghyun.” He managed to collect a few brain cells and added, “as always.”  
  
Jonghyun laughed loudly, opening his mouth as widely as physically possible. “How would you know? You haven’t seen me since I was nineteen, and nineteen-year-old me was covered in zits.”  
  
“Nothing wrong with that,” Kibum responded.  
  
Jonghyun pushed out his lips. “Got that right.”  
  
The waitress returned and dropped off their drinks, soda for the both of them. “Sober for this first meeting, huh?” said Jonghyun with a smirk.  
  
“Don’t pretend you’re not doing the same,” Kibum replied, taking a sip.  
  
Jonghyun pushed his brows upward then back down. “You make a good point. You a lawyer or something on the side? All you ever seem to do is prove me wrong.”  
  
Kibum scoffed. “Just a starving artist. Jinki’s a lawyer, though. Perhaps he’s rubbed off on me.”  
  
Jonghyun wrinkled his nose. “Was Jinki the guy from yesterday? Your manager or whatever?”  
  
Kibum nodded. “Manager is an informal position though. By day, civil court lawyer specializing in divorce proceedings, and by night my personal slave.”  
  
Jonghyun choked on his drink, making Kibum realize what exactly he had just said. “Oh my God. Th-that’s not...that’s not what I meant. Oh God.”  
  
Jonghyun waved one hand in front of Kibum, coughing and sputtering on his soda as he pounded his chest with the other hand. Kibum gathered some napkins and thrust them into Jonghyun’s open hand, who nodded in gratitude and coughed wholeheartedly into them for a minute or so. When he had finished, his cheeks were red with strain and eyes watering.  
  
“Are you okay?” Kibum asked, wanting to dissolve into the table. “You know that’s not what I meant to say.”  
  
Jonghyun shook his head. “Of course!” He gave a small snort before continuing, “I just wasn’t expecting that. You can’t blame me for thinking that way.” He shifted slightly in his seat, folding his legs over one another and pushing forward to get just a little bit closer to Kibum. “Although,” he began, voice lower and lined with mischief, “I don’t remember you doing anything like that. Did the side of you that craves dominance only emerge recently?”  
  
Kibum smacked his shoulder, pushing Jonghyun back. “Oh, shut up.” He swirled his straw around his drink, the soft clinks of ice filling up the brief pause before he continued. “We didn’t even have sex, so it’s not like that part of me had a chance to show up.”  
  
Kibum kept his eyes focused on his drink, or he would have seen Jonghyun blink in confusion. “Wait, what? We didn’t?”  
  
Kibum raised his head and leaned into the palm of his hand, resting his elbow on the table. “Nope.”  
  
Jonghyun leaned back into his chair with a small whistle. “Wow.” He cocked his head slightly to the side as he stared out the window. “Weird.”  
  
Kibum narrowed his eyes. “How is that weird? It was what it was.”  
  
Jonghyun’s eyes met his own, and Kibum could feel his heart strain. “I just remember really wanting to. So I thought we did.”  
  
Kibum paused, his mind struggling to sort out what could possibly be an appropriate answer to such a statement. “We just never got the right opportunity, I guess.”  
  
The waitress returned and dropped off their food. Even though Jonghyun gave her a heart-wrenchily sweet smile, she scarcely cast him (or Kibum, for that matter) a proper glance. Perhaps she had picked up on the “I like boys” atmosphere radiating from their table.  
  
“Bon appetit,” Jonghyun said cheerily as he picked up his fork and knife to work at the steak on his plate.  
  
Kibum stared down at his own meal: blackened salmon with wild rice and a spinach salad. It looked good, he knew that. He had two working eyes, after all. But that didn’t mean he wanted to eat it. Thinking back, Kibum couldn’t even think of the last time he had wanted to eat something.  
  
“Not hungry?” Jonghyun asked, directing Kibum’s attention upward to see Jonghyun diligently cutting his steak before popping another piece of the reddish meat past his lips.  
  
Kibum shrugged. “Yeah.”  
  
“You should try to eat a little. Just so I don’t look too awkward sitting here by myself while you just stare at your food.”  
  
Kibum huffed jokingly. “So me eating is less about _me eating_ and more making certain you don’t look stupid?” He couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips.  
  
Jonghyun thought for a moment, smiling thoughtlessly before replying, “I like a man who eats.”  
  
“So you think your ideal type will change my appetite?” Kibum replied coyly.  
  
Jonghyun picked up a cube of steak with his fork and offered it to Kibum. “I dunno what you’ve been doing these past couple years. And people go through shit. I’ve been through my fair share of it, too. But at the end of the day you’re human, and humans have to eat.”  
  
Kibum blinked. “And how do you know I’m not eating because I’m full?”  
  
Jonghyun waved his fork in a small circle before Kibum’s mouth. “I know you’re not an asshole who would eat right before a dinner date, right?”  
  
The steak tasted okay. Kibum’s fish though? Delicious.  
  
**  
  
 _At Kibum’s house, Jonghyun_ (after retreating momentarily into the bathroom to blow his nose and clean his face and chest) accepted a t-shirt from Kibum as his own tumbled around in the washer. Kibum connected the game console, usually stored in his own bedroom so he could play games undisturbed into the early hours of morning, to the large TV in the living room. The two boys settled comfortably onto the floor, propping themselves up with pillows as the game  
loaded up.  
  
Kibum quickly learned Jonghyun was a much better gamer than him. He seemed to process every single enemy action well before Kibum did, oftentimes responding before Kibum even knew what was going on. They started on a level Kibum had been stuck on for some time, but Jonghyun cleared it with ease and they trekked onward until they had defeated the entire game. Kibum’s character had been thrown to the ground more times that he could count, forcing Jonghyun to fall back and revive him—and tease him, of course.  
  
When they had defeated the final boss, or when _Jonghyun_ had defeated the final boss, to tell the truth, Jonghyun dropped the controller and stretched his arms in satisfaction as the credits rolled across the screen. “This is a fun game. What’s it called?”  
  
Kibum blinked. “Wait. You haven’t played this before?”  
  
Jonghyun shook his head. “Never.” He ducked his head to avoid the pillow Kibum chucked at him. “Hey! Wh-- _umgh_.”  
  
The second one made contact, making Kibum laugh as he swore, “Fuck you! How are you so much better than me then?”  
  
Jonghyun smirked. “I’m just naturally talented. You must struggle with the virtual world as well as the real on-- _umf_. Ah fuck, come on, stop with the pillows.”  
  
“You deserve it,” Kibum sighed, catching the pillow as Jonghyun chucked it back at him. “And I’m just bad at this game because the controls are wonky. What kind of game sets “A” as the reload button? Or right bumper to fire? It’s fucked up.”  
  
Jonghyun shifted closer to Kibum. “I bet I can beat you at any game.”  
  
“Oh really?”  
  
“Yeah. Any game that you’ve got. I’ll kick your ass.” There was something oddly competitive in his spirit. Kibum was somewhat shocked to find that Jonghyun took video games so seriously.  
  
Kibum tsked, deciding to give into Jonghyun’s competitive attitude. “How about if I win you have to pay for all the pizza tonight?”  
  
“And if _I_ win,” Jonghyun began, drawing out the _I_ , “you have to kiss me.”  
  
“What is your obsession with kissing me?” Kibum asked, voice lined with a mixture of surprise and amusement.  
  
Jonghyun pouted, sticking out his lower lip and fumbling awkwardly with the joystick of the controller. “I like kissing you. You’re good at it and your lips are soft.”  
  
During the next game Kibum (to no one’s surprise, if he was going to be honest) was sorely defeated by the other boy. They had selected a fighting game, deciding for “best two out of three,” and the two matches Jonghyun had kicked his ass, as promised, almost immediately. Maybe he was one of those nerds who actually read the instructions for games, or perhaps he had just played it so often he had figured it out, but he unleashed a strange and destructive combo Kibum had never seen before--effectively knocking him out within fifteen seconds both times.  
  
As the second “KO” was resounding through the living room, Jonghyun pressed his hand to Kibum’s shoulder. Kibum let Jonghyun push him onto his back, and then Jonghyun was on top of him, grinning victoriously.  
  
“Have your way with me,” Kibum whispered, making Jonghyun laugh loudly, his eyes crinkling up cutely. God, he was cute.  
  
Jonghyun tangled his fingers in Kibum’s hair, wetting his lips. Kibum’s heart sped, skin twitching with anticipation, his lips desperate for the feel of Jonghyun’s. Jonghyun lowered his head, their lips a hair’s breadth apart. But he didn’t close that distance. He wasn’t moving and Kibum wanted him to. Wanted to taste him again, goddamnit. So he raised his arms and was about to push Jonghyun’s lips against his own when the boy spoke.  
  
“I change my mind,” he said.  
  
Kibum blinked. “Wh-what?”  
  
“You’re paying for the pizza,” Jonghyun said with a mischievous smile as he rolled off Kibum and back onto the pillows.  
  
“You’re a dick,” exhaled Kibum.  
  
“No, but I am smart,” Jonghyun explained, looking sideways at Kibum. “I can kiss you anytime I want. And now I can kiss you _and_ have pizza for free.”  
  
So the two ordered pizza, more pizza than two teenage boys really needed, but they ordered it anyway. By the time it arrived Kibum had gotten a bit of sick of “getting his ass kicked,” so the two began watching some mindless action movie that Jonghyun got surprisingly into. It shouldn’t have been a shock, really. By now it seemed that Jonghyun operated on an all-or-nothing basis; something either had his attention and interest one-hundred-ten percent, or he couldn’t care less. Once he realized this, Kibum couldn’t stop the bubble of satisfaction that rose within him. He was something that piqued Jonghyun’s interest.  
  
The pizza arrived and Kibum payed for it all. As he walked back to his space on the couch (where the two had moved once the floor got a bit too hard), Jonghyun smacked his ass lightly and approvingly. Kibum frowned down at him, making Jonghyun grin unashamedly up at him. Asshole.  
  
At this point, the sun had already set. And by the time they had consumed all the pizza and were silently nursing deserved stomach aches it was past eleven PM. Kibum suggested changing into something more comfortable, and, ignoring Jonghyun’s suggestive eyebrows and teasing smile, gave him a pair of sweatpants to sleep in. He used the excuse of finally hanging up their two shirts to dry while Jonghyun changed.  
  
He hadn’t realized he’d been staring at Jonghyun in his sweats until Jonghyun’s chortle snapped him out of it. “I know I’ve got a nice body, but this is hardly the outfit to fawn over,” Jonghyun sighed. “Did you not like my jeans earlier? Would you have preferred booty shorts?”  
  
“Please,” Kibum sighed. “I’m just shocked by how short you are. You’re stepping on the hem.”  
  
Color rose to Jonghyun’s cheeks and his feet shuffled awkwardly as though in some useless attempt to raise the hem of the pants. "Shaddup. I still have time to grow. And it's not like being short is a bad thing!"  
  
Kibum chuckled. "I never said it was. You're the one being all defensive."  
  
"You're the one who pointed it out," replied Jonghyun huffily, crossing his arms over his chest. "You have to make it up to me now."  
  
"How does ice cream sound?"  
  
**  
  
“Why were you up at six-thirty in the morning anyway?” Kibum asked as the waitress came and cleared away their plates: Jonghyun’s practically licked clean and Kibum’s about a third empty. He felt a little sick from eating that much, but the food went down easily enough and wasn’t covered in grease, so hopefully he wouldn’t regret it.  
  
“What’s so strange about six-thirty?” questioned Jonghyun in reply, sipping the last of his soda.  
  
“It was a Saturday.”  
“Oh,” replied Jonghyun, color rising to his cheeks as he placed his cup down on the table and ran his hand through his black hair. “I was up. Exercising. Whenever I can’t sleep I head over to the gym and run for a bit on the treadmill or lift some weights. I just decided to text you.” He removed his hand from his hair and instead picked at a small stain on the tablecloth. “Sorry, it must have been a bit weird to get a message from me that early. Only one word too. It wasn’t like I wanted coffee just then! I was going to wait for you, until some more human hour, of course.”  
  
He narrowed his eyes at Kibum in mock disapproval. “Took you forever to respond though.”  
  
“Sorry about that, I was, um, painting.” It wasn’t a lie--not by any stretch of the imagination. The facts that the painting was something invisible to everyone except Kibum and that its completion was so necessary it prevented Kibum from thinking clearly were irrelevant. Right?  
  
“Must have been really absorbed in your work, then,” Jonghyun observed softly. He turned his glass bottom up, finishing the last of his watered-down soda.  
  
“Don’t you get the same way about music? If there’s a song you’re working on or something?” asked Kibum, his fingers working nervously at one another in his lap. _Keep the conversation away from the goddamn paintings_.  
  
“I suppose. I tend to pay attention when cute boys text me, though.”  
  
Kibum raised his eyebrows. “And who said you were cute?”  
  
“Ouch.”  
  
**  
  
Jinki did not assault Kibum with questions as they drove back from the restaurant to Kibum’s apartment later than night.  
  
But, as Kibum’s fingers curled around the door handle to leave, Jinki asked if he would see Jonghyun again.  
  
Kibum barely registered his own voice as he breathed, “Yes.”  
  
**  
  
“I know it might be a bit awkward,” began Jonghyun, shifting uncomfortably in his chair and picking at his fingernails.  
  
Kibum shook his head. “It’s not.”  
  
The pair were in a small cafe in mid-afternoon on a Saturday. Because of Jonghyun’s practically inhumane schedule as his debut neared, combined with what a difficult time Kibum had answering his phone (“ _I swear to God, man, no one else in this goddamn century is as detached from your phone as you are. It’s like you eject yourself from the whole planet for hours, sometimes days at a time!”_ ), their meetings were usually brief, and occurred almost exclusively on weekends.  
  
Kibum ran his finger along the rim of his cappuccino—Jonghyun had ordered it with a heart drawn in the foam. “Really, Jonghyun, it’s not.”  
  
Jonghyun licked his lips, eyes wandering up to the ceiling. “Then why won’t you say yes?”  
  
**  
  
 _At around two AM_ they called it a night during their fourth movie. Jonghyun had been dozing against Kibum’s shoulder for some time with no objection from the latter until drool had begun to slide off his plush lips and prompt Kibum to nudge him awake and lead the half-asleep boy to his bedroom.  
  
He pulled the covers down to the foot of the bed and motioned for Jonghyun to lie down. He complied silently, burying his face into the pillows and smacking his lips sleepily. If he had been more awake, Kibum was certain Jonghyun would have invited him into bed with him, but this physically- and mentally-exhausted Jonghyun was much more complying to Kibum’s will.  
  
Kibum threw the covers up over Jonghyun’s chest, the boy once again asleep, and turned on his heel out of the room. He gathered a pillow and two spare blankets from the closet in the hallway and crafted for himself a makeshift bed on the floor beside his own, using the first blanket as a mattress. Settling down, he found himself staring up at the ceiling. Despite how heavy his body felt and the activity of the day, his mind was still unwilling to welcome sleep.  
  
He turned onto his side, staring at up at what little of Jonghyun’s sleeping silhouette he could make out in the darkness. His own heart clenched as he recalled the phone call from earlier.  
  
“Damn it,” he whispered to himself, turning to the opposite side and throwing the blanket over his head.  
  
He woke up three hours later feeling like shit because Jonghyun was crying again and he didn’t know what to do.  
  
It was Jonghyun’s wracking sobs that had woken Kibum up. Never before had he awoken with such dread pooling in his stomach.  
  
Kibum was still facing the wall, fist tightly holding the blanket around his head. It was hot, as early mornings usually were in the Korean summer, but his body felt cold, devoid of all blood. All his senses were sent into overdrive, every sensation and stimulus multiplied. The floor was incredibly hard, his lower back ached from the strange position he had decided to sleep in, and the barks of a dog down the street echoed into the bedroom through the half-open window.  
  
Jonghyun moaned desperately from the bed, even that simple sound seemingly choked by tears. Kibum heard him shuffle on the bed, the sheets crinkling as he moved.  
  
“I just want…,” Jonghyun groaned. “I j-just want to be…”  
  
His voice faltered, giving way to a stream of sobs that made panic rise in Kibum like stinging bile. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Jonghyun was cracking and splintering just feet away from Kibum.  
  
And this time, he didn't do anything.  
  
Kibum stayed in bed until Jonghyun's cries had calmed. He curled his toes around the blanket as Jonghyun slid out of the bed. He closed his eyes tightly as the loud hum of the shower started in the bathroom. Kibum then got up, dressed quickly, and set himself to making a simple breakfast for the two.  
  
When the two sat down over bowls of cereal, Kibum didn’t mention it.


	3. Romeo and Juliette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jflsdfsodfsofhsdfljs so here we are. Chapter Three wooooo. It's a bit of a long one so I had to divide it into two parts....yah. The first part is really really short so don't panic too much when it ends lol. I write these chapters one chapter in advance (so as I'm typing this I finished Chapter 4 like twenty minutes ago), so my brain gets a bit fuddled about everything that happens in the chapter previous ^^; So I have no idea what else I should say....yeah...
> 
> WARNING WARNING WARNING READ ME PLEASE Okay so ya'll remember that warning about "Anxiety?" Whelp, this is the chapter that really comes into play. Really. Kibum's anxiety comes to a peak in the second half here. Now, no one knows your anxiety quite like you do and I'm not going to tell you to read or not to read, but please if be cautious, you know? As I was writing this I randomly took a break and then realized hey i think my throat is closing. So, have some water and check every once in a while that you're still doing okay. Take a walk or something or just put it down if it get's too much for you. I hate to write such a triggering story...but here we are. Please be safe everyone. <3 <3

“He wants me to paint him something. For his album cover.”

Jinki hummed into his sandwich. The two were at their usual café by Kibum’s apartment, meeting up for Kibum’s first real meal in about three days. “What did you say?”

Kibum shrugged, staring down at his untouched food.

“Scoot over,” commanded a voice from above. He looked up to see Minjung pushing her hands against Jinki’s shoulder. Jinki slid further down on the booth, and Minjung descended to sit beside him, her long legs poking Kibum beneath the table as she adjusted. She reached a long finger into Jinki’s plate and pushed a french fry between her lips. “I want the scoop.”

Kibum blinked, eyes darting between Jinki and Minjung. “W-what…?”

She waved her second fry at Jinki dismissively. “This guy told me you’ve got a boy-toy now.”

Kibum felt the blood drain from his body. “I, um, it’s—”

“If he even thinks of hurting you I will punch him in the face,” she said, squeezing the ketchup bottle violently over the fries, a few droplets of the substance splatting onto the table as a result. From the corner of his eye, Kibum noticed Jinki’s nose crinkle in dissatisfaction.

“Why would you ruin those fries?” he said, voice lined with disgust.

Minjung stuffed a few of the now-dripping fries into her mouth. “Because it’s delicious.”

Jinki grunted in response, and Minjung turned her attention back to Kibum. “Anyway, if this Jonghyun” wait, Kibum’s heart shrank, how does she know his name?“does anything, and I mean anything, you let me know and I will feed him to the sharks.”

“Do you even have easily accessible sharks?” piped up Jinki.

“I can probably break into the zoo using brute force alone,” she said with a shrug, swiping a fry along the basket’s lining for more ketchup.

“U-uh…” Kibum stuttered. A chill passed down his spine as their eyes bore into him, interrupting what he would have certainly dubbed interesting banter if his mind were not on the verge of exploding. “How do you know his name?”

Minjung reached backward, patting Jinki on the shoulder (a bit too hard, from the looks of it). “From this guy here. He asked me to call your boytoy a few weeks back.”

“That was you?” Kibum asked, trying to ignore how the word boytoy was making his stomach churn, and Minjung gave a small nod. Licking his lips, Kibum’s fingers drove small circles into the palm of his other hand. “I didn’t even think Jinki had your number.”

“The first time we came here I wrote my number down on a napkin before we left,” said Jinki, wiping salt from his shoulder. “She sent me spam messages and receipts for a full month before I realized it was her.”

“Oh,” breathed Kibum. He didn’t remember that.

“Jonghyun seemed nice on the phone,” Minjung continued, brining the conversation back on track. “But Jinki seems nice on the phone too so that doesn’t mean much.”

Kibum bit his lip. “He’s nice…” But was he nice? God, was Jonghyun nice? Kibum thought so, but maybe he wasn’t? Maybe that one time he told Kibum his taste in music was shit wasn’t a joke. Maybe when he laughed he wasn’t laughing with Kibum but at him. Maybe Jonghyun didn’t like him, maybe Jonghyun is with him just because Kibum is some crazy recluse and it’s fun to tease him. Maybe Jonghyun will cut him off for kicks maybe Jonghyun maybe Jonghyun maybe Jonghyun maybe Jonghyun

“But he can’t be too nice. People that are too nice might get a little boring. Not that he has to go out insulting people in the street, but sometimes you’ve just got to talk shit and you need to have someone to do that with. Is he like that?”

Kibum felt like he was drowning, like his heart was drowning in black. Maybe Jonghyun maybe Jonghyun maybe Jonghyun “I-I don’t know…”

Something scalding settled on his shoulder, something that burned through his shirt to his skin. He pulled away instinctively, eyes darting upward to see Minjung’s outstretched hand and her face, marked with concern. She pulled her hand away but the heat lingered. “Sorry, Kibum,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “That kind of stuff doesn’t matter. And I don’t mean to pressure you about anything or make you think about your b—” she caught herself here, taking a deep breath before she continued, “about Jonghyun any differently because of what I might say. All that matters is how you feel about him. I’m sorry.”

Kibum swallowed, only then realizing how dry his throat had become. maybe jonghyun maybe jonghyun maybe jonghyun “I need a moment,” he mumbled, pushing himself from the table and almost running into the bathroom.

If his mind hadn’t been screaming those same two words over and over, he would have heard Minjung’s sigh.

“Fuck.”

**

“Kibum, it’s five-thirty in the morning,” the man on the line replied, his voice possessing an energy no one should have that early. “What are you doing up?”

Sleeping hurts. “I want to talk to you,” he replied, tongue heavy in his mouth. He felt Jinki squeeze his hand harder.

“Look, Bum,” Jonghyun began. “If this is about the album thing, I want to apologize. I shouldn’t force you into that and try to guilt trip you. What the fuck was I thinking? It’s a classic situation: don’t mix work and pleasure, and I shouldn’t have done it and I’m sorry. You can do what you want with your art, I shouldn’t have any expectations for you about these kind of things.”

Silence held in the air for a moment, squeezing Kibum’s heart to the size of a pebble. “I just want to know why you want to use my art.”

The sound of Jonghyun’s breathing into the receiver sent shivers down Kibum’s spine. Jinki’s hand was holding his fingers so tightly it felt his bones might break. “My album is a part of me,” he said, finally breaking the pause that had driven shards of glass into Kibum’s chest. “This is my chance to express myself and let everyone see it. I don’t want to hold anything back: not now, not ever. And Kibum? There’s…you’re…you’re a part of me, too. It’s not all of me if you’re not a part of it.”

**

“Are you sure about this?” asked Jinki, staring at Kibum from where he stood at the threshold to his apartment.

Kibum nodded as he slipped into his shoes.

“He could recite the entirety of Romeo and Juliet to you and you still wouldn’t have to do anything for him, you know that, right?” The concern in Jinki’s voice was dripping from his every word.

“I don’t think Romeo and Juliet is a very good example of romance. Maybe a porn script would be better.”

“Whatever. Just know you don’t owe this guy shit.”

Kibum looked up at Jinki and tried to ignore how the worry in his eyes made his whole face seem to sag. “It’s no big deal, Jinki,” he said, forcing a smile. “It’s just a painting.”

“Just a painting my ass,” Jinki hissed. “I don’t like this guy. He’s too romantic.”

“So romance is a bad thing now?”

“Hasn’t it always been? Again, Romeo and Juliet.”

Kibum’s grip tightened around the bag he was carrying, which held two or three small canvases, a miniature palette, a few brushes and some tubes of acrylic paint. “I trust him.”

Jinki sighed. “Yeah. And that’s all that matters.” He threw his hands up in defeat, but the sincerity of his words still showed through the comedic gesture. “You’re right. Just…don’t do anything stupid and don’t let him do anything stupid.”

With that, the two left Kibum’s apartment and made their way silently down the steps and into Jinki’s car. He pulled into a McDonald’s drive-through almost immediately, ordering coffee and a breakfast sandwich for both of them. He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other around his sandwich. Kibum was digging his palms almost painfully into his thighs, his mind drowning in the thought that matter he had totally fucked up.

“Do you actually think you’ll be able to…,” Jinki began. “You know.”

“I don’t know about you, Jinki, but I don’t have any difficulty keeping it up.”

Jinki choked on his sandwich. “Fuck,” he coughed before clamping a hand over his mouth and hacking for a good minute. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“I mean, Jinki, I know it’s been like three years since you’ve had a girlfriend but a man your age shouldn’t be struggling with those kind of things. You should talk to your doctor.”

“It’s only been two years and seven months,” Jinki replied bitterly. “And don’t pretend it hasn’t been five years since you got any pussy.” He bit into his sandwich angrily.

“Or man-pussy.”

“Seriously,” said Jinki, pulling the conversation back on track. Kibum watched as his friend wrapped the remainder of his sandwich in its paper covering and threw it into the cup-holder. “Are you going to be okay with painting?”

“Wish I knew,” Kibum breathed. “I haven’t painted anything aside from the vision stuff in years.”

“What if it does the opposite? What if what you paint becomes real or some shit?”

A pause.

“I don’t know.”

Jinki groaned. “I guess there’s no way to find out besides throwing caution to the wind.” He looked over at Kibum briefly, checking to see if the sandwich was still sitting unopened next to his thigh. It was. “Please try to eat some.”

“Not hungry. If I eat I think I might just throw it up.” That wasn’t a lie. Kibum felt like his body was rejecting even his own existence right now, his tongue heavy and dry in his mouth and eyes watering for some unknown reason.

Jinki’s voice was soft. “Eating is important, Kibum. If he offers you something more substantial than McDonald’s, try to at least have a little.”

“Where do you think man-pussy sits on that scale?”

**

“It’s not much, but make yourself at home. Here, let me take that bag from you. Oh, this is heavier than I expected. Sit down on the couch; I know it doesn’t look comfy but believe me, it’s nice. Um, can I get you something to eat or drink?”

Kibum shifted on the couch, trying to keep from sinking into the leather. He shook his head. “N-no thanks, I’m okay.”

If Jonghyun’s apartment “wasn’t much” then Kibum’s was a cardboard box. It was far too spacious for just one person, and the furniture was far from representative of a barista’s salary. The couch was not only leather but massive, made of two parts set at a ninety-degree angle, with each half long enough for someone to sleep well spread-out on. The TV across from it wasn’t small either, and the coffee table, covered in music sheets, magazines, and torn pages from notebooks, was modern with a glass top The kitchenette was nothing to sneeze at either, with its marble counters and massive fridge.

Jonghyun hurried over from where he had been standing in front of the fridge, ready to grab whatever Kibum may have requested, and squatted in front of the coffee table, hands desperately organizing the mess of papers. “S-sorry, I should have thought to clean before you arrived…”

“It’s okay,” said Kibum. “Really. My place is a hundred times messier. Think about all the paint.”

Confidence surged through Kibum as he noticed the small smile that pulled at Jonghyun’s lips, confidence that drove him to speak again. “This is a really nice place. How do you manage to afford this?”

Jonghyun’s fingers paused over a notebook page, stopping Kibum’s heart as regret burned in his chest. Then those fingers were moving again, and he said, “I’m buddies with the owner of the building. He lets me stay for less.”

“A-ah,” Kibum stuttered, mentally kicking himself.

Jonghyun straightened, the papers once threatening to slide off the table now stacked semi-neatly, and stretched his arms over his head. Kibum did his best to keep his eyes from focusing on the flash of skin revealed from his rising shirt.

“I guess it’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” His eyes scanned the room before he lowered his arms and rested his hands on his hips, shifting his weight onto one leg. “But once I make it big this won’t come as a surprise anymore. Maybe I’ll even move into a mansion.”

Kibum chuckled, shifting forward on the couch. “Speaking of making it big, do you mind if I have a listen to some of the songs? I want to get a feel for your sound.”

Jonghyun blinked, his eyes round with surprise. “Wait. I haven’t let you listen to anything of mine before?”

“Not yet. Well, there was that one time you imitated an air guitar a few weeks back, but that’s about it.”

Jonghyun’s eyebrows furrowed, his mouth shifting to the side. “Weird. We’ve been dating for, what, seven weeks?” When Kibum nodded, he continued. “Wow. I could’ve sworn I’ve shown you something.”

He settled himself on the couch—a good distance away, Kibum supposed. If he reached over, he could put his hand squarely on Jonghyun’s thigh. His cheeks burned at the thought as his eyes wandered over Jonghyun’s form.

“Here.” Kibum watched as Jonghyun, with his mouth half-open in focus, pressed a few buttons on his phone before cupping it in his hand and reaching over the small gap between him and Kibum. “It’s not the best quality this way but…”

Kibum opened his mouth to speak, but the soft notes of a piano cut him off. It seemed a simple song, but the air froze in his lungs when the verse began. Jonghyun’s voice had grown stronger, deeper and fuller since Kibum had last heard him sing eight years ago. Not only that, but it was dripping with emotion; every curve and shiver in his voice made goosebumps rise on Kibum’s skin.

Kibum’s gaze settled on Jonghyun’s face. His eyes were closed, head angled slightly to the side as he mouthed the words with those soft, pink lips of his. Kibum’s eyes ran along his jawline, up to the sharpness of his cheekbone, to his softly-shut eyes and the long eyelashes that framed them. God, he was still beautiful. Warmth pooled in Kibum’s insides, the blood in his veins heating.

When the song ended, Jonghyun opened his eyes slowly, as though to readjust them to the light. His gaze met Kibum’s, irises dark with emotion. Kibum scanned his features desperately, noting the slackness of his jaw and down-curving brow.

“U-um, Jonghyun?” he muttered, voice soft. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course I am.” His voice was too low. He swallowed, but the distressed look on his face did not falter. “That one’s called End of the Day. I’m really proud of it.”

Kibum wondered how long it had been since Jonghyun had someone to come home to.

**

“Kibum, listen to this for me,” said nineteen-year-old Jonghyun, pulling Kibum’s attention away from the sketch he was working on. As always, the two of them were in their usual clearing, hiding from the suffocating mid-July heat in the shade of the trees.

“Go ahead,” Kibum prompted, angling his head to watch Jonghyun fix his position against the trunk so that the two could face each other.

“Let me know if it blows your mind,” he says, smiling crookedly. His hands moved expertly on the fret board. Once he was settled, he began to strum a fast and energetic rhythm, his right hand almost a blur as it flew across the strings.

When he had finished playing, he sneered at Kibum. “I guess you liked it. Guessing from that smile, at least.”

Honestly, Kibum had not realized he’d been smiling until that moment. “How can I not smile when you’re so talented?”

“Ah, stop, you’re making me blush.”

“Have you written any words for it yet?” asked Kibum.

Jonghyun shook his head. “Nope. But I know what it’s going to be about.”

“What?”

Jonghyun’s smile widened, showing those cluttered and angular bottom teeth. “A girl.”

Kibum blinked. “I thought you didn’t like girls?”

Jonghyun strummed a cheery chord, his eyes glittering at Kibum. “I don’t. It’s just to piss you off, really.”

Kibum snorted. “You are the worst, Jonghyun.”

Jonghyun turned away. After a brief pause, he muttered, “Maybe it’ll make my parents want to talk to me again if I start singing about girls though.”

Kibum’s heart stopped.

Jonghyun exhaled loudly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make this awkward.” The strings squeaked as he slid his fingers to the first fret. “Just…a little frustrated, you know?”

Kibum’s insides twisted, his fingers tightening around the marker in his hand. “Is it my fault?”

Jonghyun shook his head. “They don’t know about you. And even if I wasn’t meeting up with a guy whenever I left the house, even I was sitting in this clearing by myself writing song after song about breasts and perfume and chasing skirts they would still think the same thing about me.” He strums a loud chord—so loud it shakes Kibum from the inside-out. “But I’ve only got a month to go until I’m out of this place.”

“That’s good,” Kibum breathes instinctively, the words sliding off his tongue like water.

**

“Your songs make me think of the color blue.”

“Blue?”

Kibum thinks for a moment before speaking, diligently squeezing sky-colored paint on his palette. He and Jonghyun had moved to the floor, using the couch as a backrest with Kibum propping his small canvas up on his knees and Jonghyun sitting beside him. Jonghyun’s knobby knees pressed almost flat against his chest, arms securing his legs in place as he watched Kibum prepare his paints with an almost child-like fascination.

“Blue isn’t just a color for sad things,” explains Kibum as he caps the paint and sets himself to mixing his colors. “It’s a cool color, so it’s relaxing and calming to look at. It makes people feel comfortable.”

“Comfortable,” Jonghyun repeated, as though testing the word on his tongue. “I think I like that.”

Kibum lifted his gaze briefly to the pencil sketch he had already completed on the easel: a glass of wine in the foreground with a star-speckled sky behind. It was a bit cliché, but they were both fine with that.

At first Jonghyun tried to fill in the silence while Kibum worked, as though he found the quiet unpleasant. He asked about how Kibum mixed the colors (“You just do it until you get the shade you want…it just kind of happens.”), what he did if he messed up (“Just go back over it again and again until it looks how you want. You can always fix it.”), and other such questions that Kibum answered less than helpfully, if only because they didn’t have straight answers. To Kibum, anyway.

It was not supposed to be a hard picture, but Kibum found himself working much slower than necessary. His veins felt like they were freezing solid, hands shaking so vehemently he wondered why Jonghyun was failing to point it out. He could feel everything: the hard floor beneath him, the couch sticking to his back, the warmth of Jonghyun pressed against his shoulder as he tried to get a good look at Kibum’s work. He was waiting, just fucking waiting for something to happen.

For the thousandth time his eyes flicked upward. But only the wall stared back at him. Nothing was there.

Something sounded from beside Kibum, making fear flame up in his system and his limbs instinctively snap inward.

“Woah, woah, Kibum.”

It was Jonghyun. Jonghyun who had just cleared his throat.

Kibum let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Fuck, he was so on edge it was unbelievable. Even though he had been pressing paint to canvas for over half an hour now, the fear that something would happen had yet to vanish from his mind. It was actually growing heavier and heavier. Needles of desperation were digging into his heart, worry and terror constraining his mind.

“S-sorry,” he muttered, flashing Jonghyun the best smile he could. And knowing it didn’t fool him. “You just shocked me.”

Jonghyun’s brows furrowed in concern. He raised his hand and squeezed Kibum’s shoulder. Kibum hoped he couldn’t feel his skin unconsciously twitch at the touch.

“You okay? Why don’t you take a bit of a break? I can make us some lunch.”

Kibum shook his head, his eyes still focused on where Jonghyun’s fingers were pressing against his shoulder. “Nah. I’m okay. Not hungry.”

Jonghyun frowned. “Come on, Bum. You’ve been here for almost three hours now. Please? I’m a good cook, too. How does spaghetti sound?”

Spaghetti sounded like something that would be unpleasant to throw-up. All foods sounded that way. His stomach was still in knots and his throat felt like it would close at any second.

Kibum watched Jonghyun’s fingers dig deeper into his shoulder. He slowly lifted his gaze to meet Jonghyun’s eyes. And immediately regretted it. Jonghyun eyes now were concerned, his mouth partly open. Kibum’s eyes slid down again to settle on his lips. Oh fuck he was staring now, staring at Jonghyun’s thin upper lip, tracing a path from its bow to the corner of his mouth, then back around over his fuller, soft-looking lower lip. The white of his lower canines peaked out just barely over its fullness. Kibum felt like a kid again, tiny and completely at Jonghyun’s will.

He watched those lips as they drew closer to him, as he felt Jonghyun’s hand lift from his shoulder and rest on his cheek. His heart stopped beating in his chest when Jonghyun spoke in a low, soft voice.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Kibum nodded.

Jonghyun leaned to the side. His breath ghosted over Kibum’s lips, sending shivers down his spine. Every inch of Kibum’s skin burned, the heat pooling in his chest almost painfully as Jonghyun finally closed the distance between them.

**

Kibum was fucking dying. He was rotting from the inside out. Maggots were biting at the back of his eyeballs, leeches nesting in his stomach. His blood had turned corrosive. He fucking _hurt_.  
  
And it was all his own fucking fault because he had fucking convinced himself that Jonghyun was more important than painting what had appeared in his studio.  
  
He had tried to do it, had tried to paint it when it woke him at eight that morning. But Jinki was going to come and get him and take him to Jonghyun’s apartment at ten because that was their schedule for every Sunday now and Kibum wasn’t just painting his album cover but the CD design and the lyric pages and Jonghyun liked playing him new songs and asking him what he liked and Kibum could paint _normal_ things there like he wasn’t fucking haunted by these images just meant to fucking torture him and Jonghyun would laugh at him and Jonghyun would smile at him and he could sometimes eat Jonghyun’s food and he could kiss Jonghyun and he wanted to go.  
  
But that fucking lion. That lion that had appeared in Kibum’s studio looking ready to bite off his head didn’t accept his rushed work. It wasn’t good enough: the mane was too small, the intricate colors of his hide far from well-represented, and Kibum had forgotten the bloodstains around his maw.  
  
 _But_ _he was supposed to see Jonghyun_.  
  
With twenty minutes before Jinki’s arrival, Kibum had rushed into the bathroom. Were it not for the distress painted over his face, it could have been said that he looked okay. He always felt fine when he was painting, it was the before that was uncomfortable. Dizzying. Painful.  
  
Splashing water onto his face, Kibum cursed the lion for appearing so late in the morning, his voice cracking. He weighed his options desperately, but, in the end, he threw down his brushes and stared into his mirror, pushing his fear down as best as he could until Jinki arrived.  
  
He felt okay on the way there. It was mostly his nerves, to be honest, the churning in his stomach and bloodlessness of his face resulting from his own worry rather than any side-effect of leaving the painting unfinished. In fact, Jinki thought he was perfectly fine, as Kibum was usually a mess of nerves when he went to see Jonghyun.  
  
And Kibum thought he was going to be okay. He hoped to whatever god there was that everything would turn out alright. That, somehow, being with Jonghyun would keep this sickness away from him, would make him feel normal and human.  
  
That was not what happened.  
  
**  
  
 _With a week left_ before he returned to Seoul, Jonghyun got far more rebellious, like his teenage years were finally hitting him. He texted Kibum on a Tuesday at around eleven AM, and after Kibum replied that his parents were not in fact home, Jonghyun was at his door before eleven-thirty. Kibum opened the front door for him, confusion rolling around in his mind before it was brought to a grinding halt when he noticed something different about Jonghyun.  
  
“J-Jong,” he stuttered, jaw slack with shock.  
  
Jonghyun flashed him his characteristic grin as he traipsed over the threshold, pressing a quick kiss to Kibum’s cheek as he did. “Do you like it?” he prompted, pushing back a few strands of his hair to clearly show the small black stud in his left earlobe. He leaned closer toward Kibum. “Go ahead, poke it. It’s real.”  
  
Kibum reached forward and gingerly touched the stud, feeling the back poking through the other side. Retracting his hand, he looked up at Jonghyun, still smiling victoriously. “Why’d you get it?”  
  
Jonghyun straightened, tossing his hands over his head and folding them over so he could lean against them. “I’ve wanted to get it for a while, so I just thought ‘what the hell!’ I got it done earlier today.”  
  
Kibum blinked. “Are you sure it was okay for me to touch it?”  
  
Jonghyun thought for a second before shrugging. “It’s probably okay. Doesn’t even hurt anymore.” He turned away from Kibum and made his way into his kitchen, already familiar enough with his house. Kibum followed. “I want to get a shit ton more. All over my ears. I think the look of metal in ears is so sexy. Don’t you think so?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kibum agreed, deciding not to point out the fact that Jonghyun’s stud was made of plastic.  
  
He watched Jonghyun open his fridge, scan it for a short moment, and then frown. “You don’t have anything good,” he sighed, reaching in and pulling out a thin, tall bottle Kibum immediately recognized as soju. “Except this,” Jonghyun snickered mischievously.  
  
“It’s too early to drink,” Kibum balked. “And my parents will definitely know if we drink it and I am _not_ in the mood to get yelled at.”  
  
“Come on, Bum,” Jonghyun sighed, shutting the fridge with his entire body and, still holding the bottle by its neck, sauntered over to the glass cabinet. “Just a shot for each of us. They won’t notice and it’ll only get us a bit buzzed at most.”  
  
“Then why even drink it?”  
  
“Why not?” Jonghyun replied, placing two shot glasses and the bottle on the counter in front of Kibum with a satisfying _clink_. “It’s summer, Kibum, live a little.”  
  
“I’ve lived a lot,” he said reaching forward and taking the bottle into his hand to fill both glasses half way.  
  
Jonghyun picked up one of the glasses and, raising it into the air, smirked at Kibum. “Cheers!” he crids joyfully.  
  
“Cheers,” Kibum echoed, raising his glass slightly before knocking it back. Ugh, soju was not his thing. Especially this unflavored kind, and it was stronger too.  
  
While he was still trying to recover from the shot, he felt Jonghyun slide his arm around his waist. “Let’s go skinny-dipping, Bum!”  
  
Kibum wished he had filled the glass entirely.  
**  
  
Kibum woke up with a pounding headache, like his head was being split in half. He lifted his arm from where it was squished beneath his back—a weird position to sleep in—and pressed his fingers to his forehead. “God,” he breathed. His throat felt like it was on fire.  
  
Strange sounds came from some distance away. Alarm spiked in Kibum’s veins, coldness spreading through him. Then came a voice. “Don’t move, Kibum.”  
  
Kibum opened his eyes only to shut them again a moment later, the light painfully bright. He knew that voice. “J…”  
  
“It’s me,” the voice said again. He felt something warm touch his other hand, folded over his chest. Fingers intertwined with his own and held them tightly. “It’s Jonghyun.”  
  
“W-what happened?” Kibum asked weakly.  
  
“I should be the one asking that question,” Jonghyun muttered. Kibum felt his fingers run soothingly through his hair. “You knocked at my door and then just collapsed. You’ve been out for almost four hours. I was about to call an ambulance if you didn’t wake up soon.”  
  
Kibum sighed, making his throat sting even more. “C-can I have some water?”  
  
So soon as these words were said he felt Jonghyun’s warmth leave him. He listened carefully to the rushed shuffle of Jonghyun’s socked feet on the hardwood floor of his apartment. Kibum decided to open his eyes again, slower this time. When his vision focused, he was staring at the TV of Jonghyun’s living room, lying on his couch with a blanket pulled up to his waist.  
  
Jonghyun returned to his side, wrapping an arm behind Kibum and pulling him into a half-seated position against the arm rest. He was squatting on the floor in front of the couch, holding a cup of water with an orange straw in one hand. He brought the glass closer to Kibum, who wrapped his lips around the straw and drank deeply. “Thanks.”  
  
Jonghyun curved around and placed the cup on the coffee table behind him before turning back to Kibum. He placed the back of his hand on Kibum’s forehead and returned the fingers of his hand to the spaces between Kibum’s own. Kibum could not help but smile. “You look so concerned.”  
  
It was true, as Jonghyun’s usually soft features had grown harsh with worry. His brows were furrowed and eyes dark, mouth half-open and exposing his tightly-clenched teeth. He sort of looked like he was about to cry.  
  
“How can you expect me not to be concerned?” he said, wounded. “You can’t collapse like that and not scare the living shit out of me. I worry about you enough as it is.” He lowered his hand from Kibum’s forehead and rested it atop of their already-wound hands.  
  
Kibum snorted and added his other hand to the top of the pile, making Jonghyun smile crookedly. “Well, doc, do I have a fever?”  
  
Jonghyun shook his head. “Nope. Do you feel okay?”  
  
Kibum thought for a moment. His limbs felt heavy and misused, but that was probably just a result of the awkward position Jonghyun had put him in on the couch. The dryness in his throat had vanished, and pain in his head also had dulled considerably to an uncomfortable ache.  
  
“Yeah. I feel fine.”  
  
Jonghyun exhaled in relief. “Good.” He leaned forward and kissed Kibum’s cheek softly. Pulling away, he curved his hand around his face. “Then I probably don’t have to worry about getting sick. Stay right here, I’m going to make you some soup. And you have to eat all of it.”  
  
Kibum smiled. “Alright. Can you give me my phone?”  
  
Jonghyun twisted around and reached for Kibum’s phone on the table, undoing his fingers from Kibum’s as he did. He pressed the phone into Kibum’s palm and smiled before turning on his heel and walking off.  
  
From the moment Jonghyun left his sight Kibum could feel a thousand and one emotions bubbling up inside of him. There was childish glee because Jonghyun’s lips had touched him, embarrassment because of his vulnerable position on the other man’s couch, and excitement. An excitement and wonder that filled every inch of his body, flowing through his mind like an electric current. Biting back a surely childish smile, he pressed Jinki’s contact image in his phone and raised it to his ear, his mind whirring with how he would tell his friend that he had seen something and didn’t paint it _and now he felt fine_.  
  
The eighties song that Jinki had selected as his waiting music was cut to an abrupt end. Kibum did not waste a second before speaking. “Jinki! Jinki, holy fuck. The greatest thing happened to me, Jinki. You won’t fucking believe it. There was this lion in my apartment and I didn’t paint it and—“  
  
“ _Wait, a_ lion?”  
  
Kibum’s heart dropped to the floor. That voice wasn’t Jinki’s. It wasn’t even a man’s. The current in his mind stopped flowing as his gaze dropped to his lap, his entire body freezing up. “M-Minjung?”  
  
“ _Kibum, are you okay_?” she asked hurriedly, alarm lining her voice. “ _Do you need—Jinki, shut up for a second I’m talking to Kibum. No, don’t take the phone away I—“_  
  
“ _Jesus Christ_.” It was Jinki now. His heavy exhale made a loud popping noise that would have made Kibum physically recoil if his mind weren’t caving in.  
  
“Why are you with her?” Kibum’s tongue was heavy and dry in his mouth. Why Minjung? How? It’s not like they were close friends or anything. And then Kibum remembered that they had each other’s numbers and all the heat drained from his body.  
  
Jinki did not waste a second before answering. “ _I’m at the café and Minjung was playing with my phone when you called_.”  
  
Kibum’s heart sank into his stomach. “But the café is closed on Sundays,” he said softly.  
  
Jinki said nothing. Kibum exhaled, the sound strained. He felt tears press at the back of his eyes as a knot collected at the base of his throat.  
  
“Kibum…,” Jinki sighed. The word slow, precise. “Kibum, please.”  
  
He inhaled like he was fucking drowning, the air scratching at his throat like claws. He could feel the expansion and compression of his chest as he took in countless, desperate breaths. “H-How long?” he finally managed to ask, the words falling like stones at his feet.  
  
Jinki paused for a brief second, running his tongue over his lips. Kibum knows because that’s what Jinki does when he knows the answer but doesn’t want to say it.  
  
“ _About a year_.”  
  
Kibum hiccupped, his free hand curving around his abdomen and squeezing his side. Hard. He felt cold everywhere, except his face was on fire and his eyes were stinging. He gasped desperately before sputtering, “a-and where are you now?”  
  
Jinki doesn’t waste a second. “ _My apartment, but please, Kibum. Don’t say anything stupid._ ”  
  
“Stupid? I have every right to say something stupid because I’m a fucking idiot.”  
  
“ _Kibum…”_  
  
“I mean, how could I not see it?” He lifts his spare hand to his face, rubbing the underside of his nose vigorously in some stupid effort to sound clearer. “You guys fucking for a whole year and I had no idea. You deserve a proper congratulation.”  
  
“ _Kibum, please don’t do this_.”  
  
“I’m just giving you what you deserve. Congratulations! You somehow managed to get laid despite your useless friend who can’t even feed himself. It’s a wonder he’s able to wipe his own ass. Yet there you are, not only caring for his sad excuse of an existence but getting yourself a girl too!”  
  
“ _Kibum_.” Jinki’s voice was sharp, the kind that would have normally sent icicles through Kibum’s veins. “ _Stop this._ ”  
  
“Congratulations, Lee Jinki!” he shouted, squeezing his eyes tightly shut because he can’t even stand staring at his reddening palm anymore. The action pushed tears through his eyelids, which slid effortlessly down his burning cheeks.  
  
“ _Kibum_ , _stop_ ,” Jinki repeated. Kibum could feel the sternness in his voice but was too fucked up to care. “ _You know it’s not like that. You’re my friend._ ”  
  
“Then why the fuck didn’t you tell me about this?” Kibum hiccupped. “Why the fuck would a friend keep something like this from me?”  
  
Jinki did not respond, prompting Kibum to continue, his words flowing unhindered from his mouth. He felt like he was dying, guilt twisting in his gut and tightening around his heart.  
  
“I’m sorry, Jinki. You felt like you couldn’t even date because of me and I took all your time and expected you to be there whenever I need you and that’s not fair—“  
  
“ _Kibum.”_  
  
“—and I waste your time and I don’t even let you even fucking live. You shouldn't have to live like you’re afraid of the world but because of me you do and I'm sorry. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“ _Kibum, listen to me for Christ’s sake_.”  
  
“No!” Kibum snapped, his grip instinctively tightening around the phone. “I’m not going to fuck up your life anymore. Don’t come get me today.”  
  
He hung up. He struggled to power the phone off, his eyes stinging with tears so painfully it was difficult to keep them open. After a few more seconds of struggle later, he reached over his head and threw the phone as far and as hard as he could, the device loudly hitting the opposite wall and crashing to the floor.  
  
Kibum drew his knees closer, lowering his head to rest atop them. He took a deep breath, his entire body shaking as he did so. _What the fuck Jinki…_  
  
Something warm pressed against his back. He froze up, the sensation unfamiliar and unwelcome. Jonghyun’s breath grazed his neck and Kibum’s fingers curled into tight fists. He didn’t want this. He wanted to be alone, he wanted to be _home_. He didn’t want Jonghyun.  
  
And then he let out of the most pitiful cry. Tears flowed faster from his eyes, burning his skin on their journey down. He locked his arms around his legs and buried his face as best as he could into his knees and sobbed. His mind was still reeling, images flashing in and out of focus. Jinki and Minjung on their first date, Jinki and Minjung confessing, Jinki and Minjung promising they wouldn’t tell Kibum.  
  
Kibum scarcely noticed when Jonghyun began softly rubbing small circles in his back, in fact the other man’s presence was completely forgotten about just moments later. He gulped desperately for air, wondering if he was alright now, only for the tears to come faster and stronger. It was all his fucking fault, Jinki fucking suffered because of him.  
  
After a few more minutes, he had no more tears. He still wanted to cry; still wanted to scream and dig his fingers painfully into his legs and drown in his own despair, but his body was through with it. His head was pounding, muscles sore from maintaining this uncomfortable position for so long.  
  
Fingers traced a tender path to his shoulders, reminding Kibum of Jonghyun’s presence. He was so quiet.  
  
Kibum sniffled forcefully. “Jonghyun?”  
  
“Hmm?” his voice was low, soft.  
  
“Can you get me some tissues?”  
  
Jonghyun’s fingers squeezed his arm briefly. “Sure.” The couch squeaked as he pushed himself off its leather surface. Kibum could hear the patter of his feet as he hurried off.  
  
With a wracking sigh Kibum raised his head and twisted his body so his legs bent over the end of the couch, feet flat against the floor. A sigh of relief passed unconsciously through his lips, his muscles thanking him for this change in position as he stared at the floor, breathing heavily through his mouth.  
  
He heard Jonghyun approaching before he saw his black socks appear on the hard-wood floor. Jonghyun’s pace was slower now; Kibum watched his toes curl when he had stopped just a foot or two away.  
  
Jonghyun lowered himself to his knees, and Kibum’s eyes traveled upward to his. Jonghyun was giving him a weak smile, the falseness obvious because when he smiled he usually did it with his bottom teeth rather than his top—some strange quirk he’d always had since the two of them had first met. But this smile was a “normal” one, meaning his fuller lower lip was perfectly hiding his bottom teeth. And his eyes, too, were swimming in concern.  
  
“Here,” he muttered, offering to Kibum a box of tissues with an outstretched arm. Kibum took the box with a small nod as thanks.  
  
Jonghyun stayed on his knees, leaning back on his legs as he waited for Kibum to clean up, occasionally angling his head to glance at the growing pile of tissues on his coffee table.  
  
Kibum still felt like shit, but his mind has started to wander, focusing instead on how his head would spin whenever he blew particularly hard into the tissue and on how Jonghyun’s eyes locked onto him.  
  
“Can you not look at me like that?”  
  
Jonghyun twitched, obviously shocked by the sudden address. “Sorry,” he responded weakly. “I just…Are you okay?”  
  
“I’ll be better soon enough,” Kibum said more curtly than he had intended.  
  
Jonghyun bit down on his lip, eyes dropping to the floor. “Oh, okay.”  
  
Kibum tossed another tissue onto the pile. He reached a hand gingerly to his upper lip. The flesh was hot, but no longer sticky and he finally felt like he could breathe properly. He leaned back into Jonghyun’s couch, eyes wandering down to where Jonghyun was still kneeling on the floor in front of him, head bowed.  
  
 _I must look like the most fucked-up piece of shit imaginable_ , Kibum thought. _He’s done with me now, done with this fucking mess and all the shit I would just bring into his life. Fuck me for doing this fuck me for being so goddamn horrible fuck_.  
  
Kibum had to leave. Jonghyun was just trying to find the proper words to tell him to get out and never come out again: it would be a struggle for Jonghyun, as someone who was nothing but sugar for all except homophobes and animal abusers. Especially after Jonghyun was the one who invited Kibum back into his life, it would be difficult for him to tell Kibum to get the fuck out.  
  
“Sorry,” Kibum said. And it was true.  
  
Jonghyun raised up at him, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you apologizing for?”  
  
Raising an arm, Kibum pointed to the threatening tower of tissues on the table. “That.”  
  
Jonghyun began to shake his head so vigorously it was a wonder his neck didn’t snap. “No, Kibum, that’s—“  
  
“And all this,” Kibum sighed as he gestured up and down his own form.  
  
Jonghyun was staring up at him now, his hands balled where they rested on his thighs. He opened his mouth but no sounds came out. Kibum raised one of his hands to his head to pull painfully on his hair. Look at him now, first fucking up Jinki’s life and now Jonghyun’s.  
  
“C-can I hug you?”  
  
Kibum blinked, his gaze lowering to meet Jonghyun’s. His whole body had grown cold, like his skin had somehow disconnected from his flesh.  
  
“Can I hug you?” Jonghyun said again, holding Kibum’s gaze.  
  
Kibum swallowed. “Why?”  
  
Out of the corner of his eye Kibum noticed Jonghyun’s fists tightening. “Because I want to,” he replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
He watched Jonghyun rise to his feet and take two cautious steps forward. Kibum did nothing, confusion firing off sparks in his brain as he watched Jonghyun lean downward.  
  
And then Jonghyun’s warmth was swallowing him whole and his arms were around him and he could feel Jonghyun’s breath on his neck and _fuck_ this wasn’t supposed to hurt, wasn’t supposed to make him feel like his ribs were digging into his heart or like his eyes were going to burst but…  
  
“Jonghyun,” he sputtered, already feeling the heat rising in his cheeks and mouth before the tears came from his eyes. “I’m sorry…”  
  
**  
Teenaged Jonghyun spent his last day before going back to Seoul with Kibum. The day had started at their usual place: the clearing in the park, where he had played lazily on his guitar whatever song Kibum requested and Kibum doodled on the back of his own hand. He was doing his best to pretend he wouldn’t miss Jonghyun.  
  
After Jonghyun finished the ninth song, he strummed a warm and heavy chord as he asked, “What are your plans, Kibum?”  
  
Kibum lowered his hand, turning his head to face Jonghyun where the other boy was seated against his usual tree. “I’m going to spend the rest of this year working with my dad in his office,” he said. “My parents are hoping I’ll get enough interest in business that I’ll want to go to college for economics or accounting or something rather than art and can just enter next semester.”  
  
“Ah,” Jonghyun breathed in understanding. He gave the same chord another strum. “You know, I don’t think I can see you as anything but an artist.”  
  
“That’s why I’ve been looking at art schools.”  
  
Jonghyun clicked his tongue, his eyes wandering down to his fingers as they formed a bar chord across the third fret. “You’re one in a million, Kibum.”  
  
“Wow. I would’ve thought my name was a bit more popular than that,” he said with a smirk. Jonghyun didn’t really laugh. “What about you? I don’t even think I know your major.”  
  
Jonghyun bit down on his lip. Ah fuck, that wasn’t a good sign. “Business. I don’t think my parents realized my math skills are equivalent to a dog’s. Calculus was less pleasurable than rubbing a cheese grater against my skull.”  
  
Kibum frowned. “You have to take calculus for a business degree?”  
  
Jonghyun played the chord—it sounded a bit off, making a shiver pass through Kibum’s skin. “You have no idea.”  
  
Silence fell over the two, punctuated only by Jonghyun’s occasional playing. Kibum turned his attention back to the back of his hand, adding the branches to a tree two small kids were playing on.  
  
It was Jonghyun that broke the silence. “You know, you’ll have to thank me when you’re famous.”  
  
Kibum snorted, keeping his eyes trained on his doodle. “And why do I have to do that?”  
  
A joyous chord echoed through the clearing. “Because I’m your muse,” Jonghyun sing- songed.  
  
“Does that make me your muse?” The words had spilled from Kibum’s mouth before he even realized what he was saying.  
  
Jonghyun thought for a brief moment, his hands stilling over the strings. “I guess so.”  
  
He strummed a deep, almost thoughtful chord. Kibum couldn’t help but smile at his half-finished doodle.  
  
“If you’re ever in Seoul,” Jonghyun continued, “make sure you let me know. I’ll show you around.”  
  
Kibum bit his lip, churning the words over a thousand and one times in his head before saying, “I wonder if there are any good art schools in Seoul.  
  
“I’m sure as fuck there are.”  
  
**  
  
When Kibum had once again collected himself, they ordered spicy rice cakes with chicken and rice balls, the soup Jonghyun had promised long forgotten about, and the exhaustion that had settled in Kibum’s body must have numbed his stomach because he actually managed to eat what felt like a lot. Jonghyun would fish through the giant tub with a pair of chopsticks until he found a rice cake, which he would then feed delicately to Kibum. Even after Kibum had eaten almost a dozen this way, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling when Jonghyun lowered the chopsticks, revealing a small grin of his own.  
  
Somehow, (Kibum knew exactly how: he had asked Jonghyun to lie down on the couch and then placed himself in just the position he wanted) the two of them ended up on the couch together, with their legs tangled together and Kibum resting his face on Jonghyun’s chest, focusing on the heat of Jonghyun’s arm draped over his back.  
  
Jonghyun’s head was turned to face the TV, diligently watching some action movie Kibum had zero interest in. Instead he watched how the light from the screen lit Jonghyun’s features: how it accentuated the sharpness of his cheekbones and jaw, how a shadow collected in the dip above his lower lip. Truthfully, Jonghyun was beautiful.  
  
He lowered his eyes and looked at the clock below the TV. It was almost ten PM and, guessing from the fact Jonghyun exercised in the early morning, almost time for the other man to go to bed. However, Jonghyun showed no intention of moving and, no matter how long Kibum watched him for, he didn’t yawn once.  
  
Kibum adjusted his legs just a bit, instinctually, really. Just to give him something to do.  
  
A blush raced to his cheeks, blood flowing through his veins with new life as he realized he had just placed his thigh right on top of Jonghyun’s crotch.  
  
He kept perfectly still, holding his breath as he maintained his position flat against Jonghyun’s form, just waiting for the other to respond. After thirty seconds passed, Kibum finally allowed himself to breathe again, settling into the fact that Jonghyun might not have even noticed this new change of position, or just didn’t mind.  
  
 _Or maybe he…_  
  
The blood thumped faster and faster through his veins. His emotions warred against each other, his anxiety repeating a flood of uncertainties about Jonghyun’s feelings toward him while something fiery and almost inhuman banged on the inside of his skull until he could practically feel his heart beat in his eyeballs as heat pooled in his stomach and between his legs. More than that anxiety—more than however much he doubted the fact that Jonghyun was lying with him at that very moment, Kibum wanted him.  
  
He brought his hand gingerly from where it was resting limply on Jonghyun’s side, tracing a soft path up to his chest while watching his face. Jonghyun did not react, did not so much as blink. He maintained his fixed gaze on the TV as though Kibum’s touch hadn’t even registered in his brain. Biting down on his lip and somehow letting go of his doubt once more, Kibum’s fingers crept farther upward until they were resting squarely on Jonghyun’s nipple through the thin t-shirt fabric.  
  
His eyes shot up to Jonghyun’s face just in time to see his face twist slightly, pushing his lips to the side as he exhaled through his nostrils, adjusting his position just slightly. Kibum felt the nerves in his brain explode as Jonghyun’s crotch pressed against his thigh. Shivers passed through every inch of his skin as he gave Jonghyun a quick glance. He had gone back to watching TV, except his jaw had now tightened. But that was a good sign, right? That he was ready, that he wanted this, right?  
  
Kibum acted before his anxiety or his common sense could get the better of him. Lifting his head and angling it downward, he searched momentarily in the semi-darkness before lowering his head back down again and wrapping his lips around Jonghyun’s other niplle through the T-shirt.  
  
Suddenly there were hands pressed against his head. But not to pull him closer or tangle fingers in his hair, but to push him away.  
  
Kibum let go, his hand sliding off Jonghyun’s chest and onto the couch so he could push himself up. “Sorry,” he said immediately, breathless and trying to ignore the coldness that was growing in his chest and the emptiness in his veins and _fuck he was a dumbass_.  
  
“N-no, I’m sorry,” Jonghyun replied, shaking his head as he stared up at Kibum with a furrowed brow.  
  
“You don’t need to apologize for not wanting to have sex with me,” Kibum explained in a single breath.  
  
“I want to, Kibum, I do,” said Jonghyun, his voice lined with some emotion Kibum couldn’t quite place. “But I just…I can’t. Not right now.”  
  
Kibum shook his head. “Jonghyun, really, you don’t have to explain.”  
  
Jonghyun turned his head to the side to face the TV again. Even in the dark, Kibum could tell his face was devoid of color. He had fucking fucked up.  
  
“Kibum,” Jonghyun breathed after what felt like hours, angling his head slightly to stare back up at him. “I’m sorry but…could you get off me?”  
  
Kibum had never moved so quickly in his life as he did just then, scrambling backward to the end of the couch and off Jonghyun’s legs. Even when no part of their bodies were touching, Kibum was still itching to get farther away.  
  
Jonghyun pushed himself off the couch and folded his arms over his chest, covering any dark patch Kibum’s mouth might have left on his shirt. “I, um, I’m sorry, Kibum.”  
  
“Please Jonghyun, you don’t have to,” Kibum responded, hoping that somehow his voice was assertive enough this time to make Jonghyun really stop. Anymore of this and he might just break.  
  
“No, but Kibum you don’t—”  
  
Kibum cut him off, his voice quivering as he dug his fingers into his thighs painfully. “Jonghyun. Stop.”  
  
Jonghyun seemed taken aback, biting momentarily on his fingers. “But I—”  
  
“For the love of Christ Kim Jonghyun,” Kibum hissed, eyes flashing up to dig into Jonghyun’s. “Stop.”  
  
He had not intended to sound like that. Angry.  
  
Jonghyun swallowed heavily, nodding slightly as he did so. “Okay,” he muttered. “Okay, okay. I’ll, um, I’ll just get another pillow for you from my room.”  
  
Kibum sighed, “No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine here like this.” A snake was coiling around his insides. He’d fucking done it again, upsetting one of his friend’s for the second time in less than twelve hours. Someone might as well give him a medal.  
  
“You sure?”  
  
Kibum tried to smile, hoping that the action would somehow reduce the sting from his previous statements. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Good night, Jonghyun.”  
  
Jonghyun nodded, walking around the coffee table and around the couch. Kibum turned away to pull the blanket from where it had pooled by his feet up to his chest then he propped himself up on the two pillows they had thrown to the floor earlier. As Kibum worked, Jonghyun stopped at the edge of the couch. He stood there, silently, for a moment before speaking. “Sleep well, Bum.”  
  
When Jonghyun shut the door behind him, Kibum let out a wracking breath. His every inch had broken out into a cold sweat as his stomach twisted and churned. The couch was sticky and uncomfortable, bending to his weight as though threatening to swallow him just like the weights in his lung. He had fucked up.  
  
“Hoo…hoo,” he breathed, using the soft sound in a weak attempt to keep his breathing and heartbeat regular. “Goddamnit.”  
  
Kibum hopped to his feet, surprised to find that somehow his legs were able to support him despite how bloodless they felt. He pushed himself down onto his hands and knees. “F-fuck,” he sputtered, spreading his legs straight out and propping himself into a plank position. Exercise helped people relax, right?  
  
  
“One, two, ah fuck-k-k.”  
  
N-no, that wasn’t going to work. Fuck.  
  
Falling onto his side, Kibum pulled his knees to his chest, holding his legs so tightly to his chest he could feel the sharp bones digging into the flesh of his palm. Or at least he would be if his mind weren’t swamped in black, the blackness of words repeating over and over again, the uselessness of his _everything_ echoing through every part of him Jesus…  
  
“I’ve fucked up.”  
  
**  
  
Ten minutes later Kibum was better, a bit. The coldness that had shaken his form had vanished, his vision finally going clear again and his heart had slowed. It took him a while to get back onto the couch, his anxiety having transformed into a powerful exhaustion that made it hard to even bring himself to his feet.  
  
But once he got himself back onto the couch, he pulled the covers up to his chin and fell asleep. He did not have any dreams, but found himself blinking back into alertness a few short hours later. He still felt like shit, both mentally and physically, as he stared at the electric clock: 3:31 AM.  
  
Sleep was such a dick.  
  
Kibum turned his head to stare up at the ceiling, painted blue by the city lights streaming in through the window. He wondered how long it had taken him to get used to sleeping with such honestly bright lights. Back home, it was usually pitch at night, the city near enough to smog up the skies but not for its lights to be visible. It must have been a big adjustment for him, but all the years between this moment and when he first moved to Seoul had erased any memory of struggling with the lights. He sighed softly, wondering what else he may have forgotten about the old Kibum.  
  
It was then that Kibum heard a strange noise. While it piqued his interest at first, when the sound failed to return in the next fifteen seconds he resigned it to some happening on one of the other floors. It was a nice apartment building but that didn’t mean the floors could block out all sounds, after all.  
  
And then it came again, this small sound. Kibum pushed himself onto his elbows, realizing now that there was no way its source was a different apartment. It was far too quiet.  
  
His heart flipped in his chest as he pushed himself onto his feet, squatting on the couch as he leaned in to press his ear flush against the wall. Kibum did not have to wait too long before it came again, and now he could identify it.  
  
Jonghyun.  
  
Kibum muscles screamed for him to stand, to rush into Jonghyun’s room to—  
  
The fuck was he thinking? Jonghyun probably hated his guts. No, Jonghyun was probably afraid Kibum would try molesting him again or something. The man was probably sniffling in there because of Kibum. Fuck. This was all Kibum’s fault maybe he should just leave; walk right the fuck out that door and never come back and just go back to his apartment and then _never come out_. That would be best, right?  
  
Kibum was such a motherfucking idiot.  
  
Jonghyun hiccupped through the wall, the sound much louder than anything he had made previously. Kibum shuddered involuntarily. Goddamnit. This was all his fault.  
  
With his heart hammering in his ears, it was a wonder he was able to hear through the wall those rapid inhalations and exhales that meant Jonghyun was no doubt whispering to himself now. His voice began to undulate, moving from soft whispers Kibum could not even dream of comprehending to broken syllables spoken just above speaking volume.  
  
“ _I…king…lone…me…God…you…fuck…_ ”  
  
Kibum’s whole body grew cold, his sensations limited to the pounding of his heart and the press of the wall against his ear. He closed his eyes, hoping that cutting off his vision would make Jonghyun somehow more comprehensible. It didn’t, the other man’s words still broken beyond the point of translation.  
  
Kibum felt like he was sinking and being pulled up from the waves at the same time. Jonghyun shouldn’t be crying, Jonghyun wasn’t a person that should be crying this was fucked up Kibum had fucked this up Jesus.  
  
He pushed himself off the couch and onto the floor, making his way slowly around the coffee table as his emotions warred. To leave through that door and never come back or to go to Jonghyun. To leave Jonghyun or to go to him. To leave or to go to leave or to go—  
  
Jonghyun choked and Kibum pushed his way into the other man’s room without another thought.  
  
He immediately made out Jonghyun on the center of the bed, sitting up as he stared unseeing at the opposite wall, slack-jawed and with reddened eyes. Panic erupted in Kibum’s chest as he instinctively climbed onto the bed and crawled onto his knees toward Jonghyun, placing his hands on his shoulders and shaking him lightly. “J-Jonghyun!”  
  
Jonghyun blinked, his eyes focusing as he reentered reality. He looked up at Kibum with wide, hurt eyes. Kibum could see tearstains marking his cheeks. “B-Bum…”  
  
“Are you okay?” Kibum asked, struggling to keep his voice low and calm even though he felt like screaming. Jonghyun didn’t need him screaming. “Did you have a nightmare or something?”  
  
Jonghyun did not react, instead continued to stare at Kibum. His eyes burned a path along Kibum’s face, starting at the corner of his eyes, traveling down and across his cheeks, along his lips and jawbone, and then back up to his eyes again. Kibum’s heart compressed in his chest as he bit down on his lip. “Jonghyun,” he said slowly, feeling the word form in his mouth delicately. As though he were folding a paper crane rather than speaking. “Are you okay?”  
  
Jonghyun only continued to stare, his eyes locked onto Kibum’s. But not boring into them, not searching for anything from Kibum. Not even looking at him desperately. Just staring.  
  
He watched Jonghyun’s arm move, watched his hand rise and then wrap itself around Kibum’s left side. Sparks went off in Kibum’s skin where Jonghyun was touching him, and now he was struggling to keep the confusion in his own voice from showing. “J-Jonghyun?”  
  
“Kibum,” said Jonghyun, his voice cracking weakly. “Bum…can you please make love to me?”  
  
Kibum felt his throat tighten. He lowered one hand from Jonghyun’s shoulders, touching his hot skin before resting them on his forearm. “Jonghyun I—”  
  
“Kibum _please_ ,” Jonghyun muttered, lifting his opposite arm to hold Kibum’s other side. Kibum didn’t think he had ever felt so small before. Or that Jonghyun had ever looked at him like this before; like he was going to break. “Can you just…pretend you love me tonight?”  
  
Kibum didn’t know how to respond, so Jonghyun filled in the pause by asking again. “Bum, please make love to me.”  
  
Biting down on his lip so painfully it hurt, Kibum tried to assess his thoughts. There was no fucking point in lying to himself and claiming he didn’t want Jonghyun. God, there was probably a part of him that hadn’t stopped wanting Jonghyun since they had first met all those years ago. But _like this_? Sure, Kibum didn’t smell any alcohol on his breath and knew for a fact that Jonghyun didn’t do drugs or anything but…would this really be okay?  
  
“Jonghyun, are you sure?”  
  
Jonghyun nodded, not breaking eye-contact with Kibum as he did so. “Please, Kibum. I need this.”  
  
Kibum let out a shaking breath before nodding. “Okay,” he muttered. “Okay.” He released Jonghyun’s arms and lowered his hands to his own shirt. Jonghyun removed his hands from Kibum’s side and a moment later Kibum was shirtless and cold. He looked down to see Jonghyun pulling the covers down.  
  
“Take off your pants then get in,” Jonghyun said, his voice too weak and shaky for those words, but he said it anyway.  
  
Kibum’s hands went to his belt buckle, undoing it with numb fingers as his mind raced. What the fuck was he doing?  
  
And then Jonghyun’s fingers joined his, pushing Kibum’s hands to the side as he tore off the belt with a practiced expertise and then popped the button and undid the zipper in about half a second. His hands were on Kibum’s thighs next, shimmying the jeans down as best as he could before Kibum pushed away from him to pull them off one leg at a time. When he turned back to Jonghyun, every inch of his body now shaking in the cold, he saw Jonghyun pull off his tank top and then reach his hands under the covers. A few seconds and some kicks later Jonghyun pulled something out from under the covers and threw it across the room.  
  
Kibum slid in under the blankets, almost sighing in relief at the new-found warmth. He pushed himself toward Jonghyun, Jonghyun guiding him to rest on his knees and hands on top of him. Jonghyun’s legs were spread so Kibum could fit snuggly between them, the searing heat meeting him there evidence that what Jonghyun had thrown out of the bed earlier had probably been his boxers.  
  
He stared down at Jonghyun, who was looking up at him with cheeks already pinkish and his chest definitely rising and falling faster than it normally would be. Kibum could hear his hurried breaths, probably would be able to feel them against his own lips if he lowered himself just an inch.  
  
“Kibum,” Jonghyun whispered beneath him, lifting his hands and placing them again on Kibum’s sides, where they burned into his skin like a white-hot brand. “Like you love me.”


	4. Fucked Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so....I don't like this chapter very much ^^; I don't think I wrote it well and it seems like none of the scenes came out the way I wanted them to...I'm just... *hides in cave*

_Kibum waited a week_ before trying to get in contact with Jonghyun after he returned to Seoul. It was the proper thing to do, right? Jonghyun was moving back into his dorm, meeting up with friends he hadn’t seen the whole summer, and getting ready for classes to begin. Not to mention the fact that Kibum’s parents soon had him swept up in their “artist-prevention” measures, his father dragging him to his office at nine in the morning and keeping him there until past seven. The work wasn’t bad, per se, mostly because Kibum wasn’t doing any, as this wasn't a formal internship and he thus could not access any of the client files or look at any company information. He went on coffee runs, printed papers, and once spent three and a half hours un-stapling and then re-stapling packets. He had a desk of his own, fortunately, and the days went by slowly but steadily.  
  
He listened to music while he performed menial tasks, oftentimes muttering the words under his breath as he worked. He’d always been a fan of music, but being with Jonghyun had reawakened this passion within him. Jonghyun had even made him playlists which, despite their god-awful titles like “I Love Your Butt ( ˘ ³˘)♥” and “You’d Look Beautiful Between My Legs ;)” (Kibum kept their names intact, even though his cheeks would flare with heat whenever he saw them), were actually interesting to listen to. And there were so many songs crammed onto his phone now he would have sworn he heard at least one new one every day.  
  
When there weren’t any entry-level tasks for Kibum to complete, which was often enough, he would occupy himself by drawing. The office had a seemingly-infinite supply of printer paper and pencils anyway, so Kibum could doodle to his heart’s content. Struck by a strong, almost forceful inspiration Kibum began to work on a winged horse--Pegasus. After he finished the gesturing by drawing the basic outline of the creature, he recalled Jonghyun mentioning he grew up on Greek myths. Maybe this would be a good gift for him.  
  
Kibum had it all but finished by the time his father called it a day and the two headed home. All he had to do was perfect the intricate details of the mane and wings and then it would be complete.  
  
He ate dinner quickly and then ran to his room, pulling out his phone as he did so before throwing himself onto his bed. He wondered for a brief second whether to call Jonghyun or just text him. Deciding he missed the other’s voice, he pressed the call button and pressed it to his ear. Jonghyun’s waiting music was set a bit too loud, a detail Kibum had forgotten about until he cursed under his breath and pulled the phone away from his ear. Cupping it in his outstretched hand, Kibum waited with a pounding heart for Jonghyun’s voice to cut through the song.  
  
Instead came that robotic female voice with it’s “ _we’re sorry but the number you are calling_ …”  
  
Kibum sighed, hanging up his phone and rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. He shouldn’t be too upset, since Jonghyun was probably just busy. Yeah, it wasn’t even eight pm yet, he could still be doing a thousand other things. Or maybe he just didn’t hear his phone ring…?  
  
Kibum tried again but was unlucky once more. He decided to send a quick text, just so Jonghyun would know he wanted to talk.  
  
“ _Hey. Call me when you’re free. I need my muse <3”_  
  
**  
  
It had been so long since Kibum had woken up with someone else.  
  
If Jonghyun were an angel when he was awake, then when he was asleep he was heaven itself. With warm sunlight dancing in his hair and cradling his face with tender hands, he made Kibum’s heart feel like bursting. He slept on his side, with his knees bent and arms spread haphazardly on the mattress toward Kibum. He was at the very bottom of his pillow, his back bent rather dramatically. And he slept with his mouth open, like a kid.  
  
Kibum could only stare for so long, his eyes wandering over Jonghyun’s form, or what little he could make out with the thick blankets over him. Kibum wondered briefly how he had ever been intimidated by Jonghyun—both recently and in his past. He looked so at peace when he was asleep, his features soft and almost welcoming  
  
It had been so long since Kibum had woken up with someone else.  
  
And waking up next to Jonghyun felt so good.  
  
He pushed himself up higher on the bed and shimmied closer to Jonghyun. Propping up his head with one hand, he draped the other over Jonghyun’s back. With one pull he could have Jonghyun in his arms completely, pressed against his chest. He could lean his head down and bury his face in his hair, he could hold him and hold him and never let go.  
  
As Kibum was contemplating doing just that, as his hand pressed against Jonghyun’s back just a touch harder, he remembered what had happened the previous night. Why exactly he had woken up in Jonghyun’s bed.  
  
His stomach twisting, he removed his hand from Jonghyun and moved back away from him, now a bit over a foot away from the other man. Jonghyun’s hands were still stretched out toward him, and Kibum found himself instinctively entwining his fingers with Jonghyun’s. This was far enough away, right?  
  
Kibum drifted in and out of sleep for what felt like the next one or two hours, occasionally opening his eyes just slightly to see Jonghyun still snoozing beside him, their fingers tangled together. A part of him hoped the rest of his life could just pass by like this.  
  
His eyes were open just slightly when Jonghyun’s own began to move slightly beneath their eyelids. Kibum’s insides flipped and he shut his eyes immediately, timing his breathing so he would still seem asleep to the other man. For Kibum’s first sixteen breaths Jonghyun did not move, but then the crinkle of the sheets beneath his weight reached Kibum’s ears.  
  
There was a pause— _one, two, three, four_ —and then Jonghyun’s fingers squeezed Kibum’s and he whispered, “I’m sorry.”  
  
He was sliding out of the bed six breaths later, leaving Kibum’s hand cold and his head spinning.  
  
He stayed in bed, pretending to sleep as he listened to Jonghyun’s soft footsteps on the hardwood floor. Then a door closed softly and the roar of the shower reached his ears.  
  
Kibum pushed himself up to lean against the headboard, bending his legs slightly so he could prop his arms up on his knees. He stared at the wall across from him, the white paint turned a soft yellow by the daylight streaming in through the window. His eyes wandering down to the nakedness of his own chest, he let out a long breath. Had he fucked up?  
  
Why the hell had Jonghyun apologized, anyway? If it was anyone’s fault it was Kibum’s…right?  
  
He raised his head again, trying to organize his thoughts and figure out what he was supposed to do now. But after he got dressed, everything would depend on Jonghyun, right? If Jonghyun wanted him out he would leave and just start walking. He never had any cash on him, not even a transport card, so he would just walk and walk until he got home. That seemed like the most rational idea, and was probably what Jonghyun would do to him, so Kibum did not think of anything else aside from how he would navigate the busy streets of Seoul and eliminate every trace of Jonghyun from his life once he reached his apartment.  
  
Listening to the hum of the pipes from the bathroom, a memory squeezed its way into Kibum’s mind like water through cupped hands. He turned to face the bathroom door, slowing recalling their very first night together.  
  
A shiver crawled up Kibum’s spine. Jonghyun hadn’t changed, even though he should have.  
  
But Kibum was fucked up too. He admitted that easily enough.  
  
Maybe two fucked up people would be okay together.  
  
And it wasn’t like Kibum still had Jinki. His throat tightened at the thought of the other man. Kibum couldn’t bother him anymore. No, not now and never again. Jinki did not deserve that. Jinki shouldn’t have to hide because of him. And Kibum wouldn’t make him anymore.  
  
Jonghyun…yeah, Jonghyun could do it.  
  
Jonghyun could run websites and email people, right? Jonghyun could go with him paint shopping and Jonghyun could feed him. Maybe one day Jonghyun could pay people to sell his paintings so all they had to do was live together and stay together and write songs and paint and that was all they’d need, right?  
  
It was then that Kibum realized the apartment had grown silent, the shower’s hum having ceased. Panicking, he slid off the bed, hissing in the sudden cold. He pulled on his clothes quickly and rushed over to the mirror on the opposite side of the room, combing his fingers through his hair hurriedly. As he worked, the door opened and Kibum turned to watch Jonghyun exit the bathroom, fully clothed in a gray sweater and navy jeans that were so tight Kibum’s heart skipped a beat. He was ruffling a towel energetically over his hair and cast Kibum a quick smile when their eyes met.  
  
“Morning,” he said, his voice low and gravely, probably because he had just woken up.  
  
“H-hi,” Kibum stuttered, suddenly feeling disgusting and pitiful as Jonghyun’s eyes narrowed at him.  
  
“Did I not give you anything to change into yesterday?”  
  
Kibum looked down at his paint-stained t-shirt and jeans. Now that he thought about it, he had been wearing this ensemble when he’d left his apartment the previous day.  
  
“Gimme a sec,” said Jonghyun, turning on his heel toward his closet as rolled up the towel and draped it over his shoulders. A minute later he spun back around and approached Kibum, holding out a folded t-shirt and sweatpants. “Hop in the shower and put these on. I’ll make breakfast. The pants are from back when I was skinnier, so hopefully they’ll fit.”  
  
Kibum took the clothes from Jonghyun. “They’ll probably be too short for me, though.”  
  
Jonghyun punched his shoulder playfully, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You’re a dick.”  
  
Showering in Jonghyun’s bathroom was even worse than showering in his own. He felt like he was invading someone else’s space, which he was, like he would ruin everything. And fuck did he have to use Jonghyun’s shampoo? He didn’t want to smell like Jonghyun, like raspberries and sea foam and fucking sunlight or whatever. He couldn’t even read the bottle, having gone cross-eyed in the searing heat of the shower Jesus Christ Kibum just _turn the fucking heat down_.  
  
And then he did and his body went numb from the cold and it wasn’t so bad anymore. And he washed his hair and the smell was so invasive and insulting he almost gagged but managed to somehow hold back. He had to. Once the foam was gone, the smell went with it. Kibum let out a loud sigh, cursing himself and his inability to do just about anything.  
  
He got dressed quickly, side-eying himself in the mirror as he did. The clothes felt soft against his skin, and when he remembered they were Jonghyun’s he was possessed by the strong desire to tear them back off again.  
  
“The fuck is wrong with me?” he muttered, digging his nails into the skin of his forearm. Hours before he’d slept with the guy and here he was, thinking he was ruining everything by showering in Jonghyun’s bathroom and wearing his clothes.  
  
But, then again, the sleeping together thing had happened under rather strange circumstances so that certainly couldn’t count as a testament toward Jonghyun’s feelings. And maybe he had just looked so awful that Jonghyun had to invite him to shower, for the sake of humanity.  
  
He jumped when a loud knock sounded on the door.  
  
“Kibum?” Jonghyun yelled through the door. “You okay in there?”  
  
Kibum nodded before realizing Jonghyun couldn’t see him and replying loudly, “Y-yeah. I’ll be out in a minute.”  
  
“Okay. I’ve got breakfast ready!”  
  
He waited a minute or so, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. At his discolored skin and red-rimmed eyes. At the bones poking through his cheeks and the arms. He was odd and wrong and gross and he knew it. He fucking knew it.  
  
**  
  
 _Kibum waited for five_ days for Jonghyun to get back to him. Five goddamn days. He waited for that long because classes were probably making him really busy and it was probably hard for him to think about Kibum when he was so busy getting back into the swing of city life. And even if they talked it wasn’t like Kibum had anything in particular to tell him. He wasn’t really doing anything, nothing excited had happened.  
  
 _Fuck_ it was weird to think about—but Kibum might have just wanted to talk to Jonghyun for no reason at all.  
  
When Kibum finally finished the Pegasus sketch five days after he began it, the project extended over such a long period because the wings were so difficult he found himself having to put it down sometimes for hours on end to keep himself from literally tearing it in half. But when it was done it was beautiful and elegant. Kibum did not usually swoon over his own artwork like this, but this sketch didn’t really feel like his. It was Jonghyun’s.  
  
So on a Tuesday night, because Thursday and Friday were too close to the the weekend and on weekends he was probably out drinking and no one wanted to talk to anyone on a Monday night, Kibum flopped onto his bed and dialed Jonghyun’s number.  
  
He leaned back into his pillows, listening to the sound of that familiar song playing in his ear until he realized that wasn’t what he was hearing at all.  
  
“ _We’re sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service…_ ”  
  
Kibum’s blood froze in his veins. He hung up, his fingers twitching. There must have been some mistake. Maybe he had accidentally pushed another number or something.  
  
He called again, his heart pounding in his chest and then stopping when that voice came again.  
  
“What the hell?” he asked, pulling his phone away from his ear to open up Jonghyun’s contact information. The number looked okay, not like he had accidentally added or deleted any digits. What the fuck…  
  
Leaping to his feet, he hurried over to his desk and opened his laptop. His face bloodless and head spinning, he opened up Facebook. He had not touched this website in months, his profile picture well over a year old. It had not even occurred to him to ask for Jonghyun’s account so they could friend each other on the site.  
  
It was pointless, really. And he knew it from the very second he started. There’d be no way to sort through the thousands of other Kim Jonghyun’s. Kibum did not know anything about the school he was going to except for the fact that it was in Seoul and had a business department of some kind.  
  
There was a part of him that knew Jonghun didn't have an account. Maybe Jonghyun had told him this at some point, or maybe in their short time together Kibum had simply learned he wasn't the type to use a social media site like this. If Jonghyun wanted to stay in touch with someone he would have, he didn't need or want some site to update strangers on his day-to-day life.  
  
After an hour, Kibum threw himself onto his bed, clutching his pillow tightly to his chest.  
  
Where the fuck was Jonghyun?  
  
**  
  
"Jonghyun…,” Kibum muttered, staring down at the marble island of Jonghyun’s kitchen where just a few minutes earlier the two had eaten a simple breakfast, or mostly Jonghyun had eaten. Kibum was just grateful he had been in the shower when Jonghyun had cooked the meat or the smell might have turned his stomach inside out.  
  
“Hmm?” answered Jonghyun. He was working diligently at cleaning the dishes across the kitchen, having refused Kibum’s offer for help with a wry smile. Kibum raised his head and watched Jonghyun's shoulder blades press against the back of sweater as he worked.  
  
He swallowed, a part of him had actually hoped that Jonghyun hadn’t heard him.  
  
Curling his hands into fists until he could feel his nails digging into the flesh of his palm, he spoke again at an even lower volume. “Do you remember the first time you spent the night at my place?”  
  
Jonghyun scrubbed a plate diligently as he thought. “No, I don’t think so.”  
  
“It was the first time we met after the party,” Kibum continued, watching Jonghyun’s back for even the slightest indication that the memories were coming back to him. “We met in the clearing and talked, then you got a phone call and we went to my place…”  
  
Jonghyun placed a dish in the drying rack beside the sink and bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah. I remember now.” He looked back at Kibum and smirked. “I kicked your ass at video games, didn’t I?”  
  
Kibum bit at his lip to keep a smile from growing. “Irrelevant,” he replied, making Jonghyun snort. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”  
  
“Ah,” Jonghyun breathed, reaching for next dish on the rapidly shrinking pile. “My parents, then? I guess I never really explained that...thought it spoke for itself. They didn’t like their gay-ass son. Shocker, right?” He chuckled before continuing. “Amazingly, after that call they got even more pissed with me. The fact that I was taking dick rather than giving somehow made it even worse, like one position is more gay than the other when the only thing that really matters is if the person you’re fucking with calls himself a man.” He snorted.  
  
“What about your parents? I don’t think you’ve mentioned yours recently…”  
  
Kibum swallowed. “We don’t talk anymore.”  
  
“Who would’ve thought liking dick would make anyone into orphans?” Jonghyun asked, shaking his head. “Like, what if people just started abandoning kids because they didn’t like onions? They should’ve been incredibly happy, since the possibility of me accidentally knocking someone up is thrown out the window.”  
  
Kibum swallowed. This wasn’t what he wanted to talk about either. Well, maybe partially. But there were wasps in his brain and his stomach was rotting and he disgusting and it was his fault and--  
  
“Jonghyun, I want to apologize about that night.”  
  
Jonghyun’s hands paused for a moment, ceasing briefly the circular motion of his shoulder blades as his hands worked at the dishes before continuing. “Did something happen? I don’t even remember. You don’t have to apologize for something I don’t even remember, Kibum.”  
  
Taking a deep breath, Kibum continued. “I want to though.”  
  
Jonghyun reached up and shut off the water running from the tap. The dish clinked softly as he rested it on the rack before turning to face Kibum.  
  
“I fucked up back then,” said Kibum before Jonghyun could speak up. “I was a dumbass kid and I let you cry by yourself and I shouldn’t have.”  
  
Jonghyun’s eyes widened, realization pushing his brows up and relaxing his jaw. “O-oh,” he mumbled. “I had forgotten about that. Um, I didn’t know you were awake?”  
  
Kibum dug his fingers so deeply into his palm he almost cried out in pain. “You’re a pretty loud crier.”  
  
Jonghyun inhaled deeply, his chest pressing against the fabric of his sweater. “I guess that hasn’t changed, considering last night.” Here, he cocked his head to the side and flashed Kibum a sideways smile. “Except if your plan had been to comfort me with your dick I doubt that would have helped back then.”  
  
Kibum’s cheeks burned. He released his fingers from his palm and raised his arms into the air as a testament to his innocence. “I only did that because you asked me too!”  
  
Jonghyun huffed, “Then what was your actual plan? How were you going to calm down all this?” He gestured down his whole body with an open palm.  
  
“Um,” stuttered Kibum. “W-with a hug?”  
  
“A hug?” repeated Jonghyun incredulously, his voice lined with enjoyment.  
  
“That’s what you did earlier to me!” said Kibum defensively, making Jonghyun laugh and his eyes curve. Kibum’s heart constricted. Goddamnit Jonghyun…  
  
“You got me there,” he replied.  
  
He leaned back against the counter, running a hand through his hair before speaking in a heavier voice. “I’m sorry about putting you in an awkward position last night.”  
  
Kibum shook his head, leaning over the counter and waving his hands desperately. “Don’t apologize, really.”  
  
Jonghyun chewed the inside of his cheek, casting his gaze upward for a few seconds before looking back at Kibum. His eyes were harsher now, lips pursed tightly before he continued. “I’m about to make it more awkward, though. I was the one asking for it last night but now I have to tell you I won’t be able to have sex with you anymore…” He breathed deeply, letting out a shaking breath that almost took the oxygen from Kibum’s own lungs. “At least not for a while. I’m just not...I’m not. Erm, I. Fuck you know, I just…”  
  
“That’s okay,” said Kibum, cutting off Jonghyun’s ramble.  
  
Jonghyun blinked, as though processing Kibum’s words before a small smile pulled at his lips and yeah, yeah that looked right. “Thanks, Bum.” He drummed his fingers against the marble. “You’re a soft fuck but you did pretty well.”  
  
“I was only soft because you were a mess,” Kibum responded. “I am incredibly versatile in bed. I can be whatever you want--so long as you beg.”  
  
Jonghyun burst out in laughter. “I’m looking forward to it, then. You have to promise to wait for me to be ready, though. Just you and your hand until then!”  
  
Kibum’s heart skipped a beat. Did that…?  
  
Next thing he knew Jonghyun was crossing the kitchen, then leaning across the counter, then cupping his hand under Kibum’s chin and then kissing him and then Jonghyun whispered in his ear, “ _You’re mine, okay?_ ”  
  
**  
  
“Stay the fuck away from him!”  
  
Kibum’s voice had never felt so raw in his own throat, so foreign to his own ears. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, every inch of his body on high alert and screaming and crying out as he watched Jonghyun hit the asphalt.  
  
“He needs to stay the fuck away from you,” Jinki growled, raising his hand to point an accusing finger at Jonghyun, crumpled on the parking lot. “You could have gotten hurt because of this bastard.” He looked back up at Kibum where he was standing just a few feet away, where fear had frozen him into the spot when Jinki had emerged from his car only a minute earlier, his eyes burning with an intensity Kibum had never seen before.  
  
“He didn’t do anything,” Kibum cried out, rushing forward to Jonghyun. _Oh god the blood_ …  
  
Jinki’s hand on his shoulder pushed him back until he almost fell onto his ass. Jinki’s hands curved around his upper arms, holding him in a vice-like grip. “He fucking did. He fucking almost killed you.”  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?” Kibum screeched, lifting his arms and scratching uselessly at Jinki’s chest.  
  
“You could have died, leaving that fucking painting,” Jinki hissed.  
  
“You don’t know that!”  
  
“But how did you know you’d be okay, huh?” Jinki retorted, spit flying from his mouth and flecking Kibum’s cheeks. “You didn’t! You didn’t know what could have happened. What if you had died? What the fuck would I have done then?”  
  
“Fucked your girlfriend, maybe!” Kibum screamed, wrestling against Jinki’s grip. “Let me fucking go.”  
  
But Jinki’s grip only tightened around his arms, “Don’t you dare bring her into this.”  
  
“Then stay the fuck out of my life!”  
  
“No! I’ve spent way too fucking long-- _fuck_! Let go of me!”  
  
Kibum did not even realize Jonghyun had gotten up from the ground until he was coming toward Jinki from behind and locked his arms around Jinki’s, successively pinning the other man to his chest. Jinki’s legs flailed out madly, curses streaming from his mouth as Jonghyun took a few shaky steps backward, pulling Jinki off of his feet.  
  
Kibum's eyes met Jonghyun, his dark and heavy beneath his furrowed brow. Jonghyun was staring at him, making something burn in Kibum’s chest. Jonghyun’s cheeks were marked with blood, some still oozing slowly from his nose and burst lip. He shook with his every breath, his heavy exhales audible to Kibum even from so far away.  
  
The burning feeling grew inside of Kibum, festered and wheezed until he curled his hand into a fist and took a step forward. His eyes stayed locked onto Jonghyun’s but he could feel Jinki’s burning into him, digging holes into his chest from where he still struggled in Jonghyun’s grip.  
  
Jonghyun was urging him forward, his dark eyes pulling Kibum closer and closer. Kibum’s heart thumped painfully in his chest, his pulse thudding in his temples. Jonghyun was looking at him like he was waiting for Kibum to act.  
  
Kibum’s eyes lowered to Jinki’s. He was fighting against Jonghyun’s hands, trying to gain proper footing or push himself away, but to no avail. Compared to Jonghyun, he was much less bloodied, sporting only a reddish smudge that would no doubt form a bruise later.  
  
Jinki stopped struggling, hanging loosely in Jonghyun’s hands as he stared up at Kibum. He was obviously trying to soften his expression, his eyes wide and upturned while his jaw was still tense. Kibum could see the muscles in his neck straining as he opened his mouth to speak.  
  
But Kibum did not want to listen.  
  
He pulled his arm back and swung. The crack of his fist’s contact with Jinki’s face resounded through the parking lot.  
  
His knuckles hurt and Jonghyun had let go of Jinki and Jinki was lying on the asphalt and then Jonghyun was grabbing his hand and leading Kibum into his car and Kibum’s knuckles hurt.  
  
**  
  
“ _That’s a nice sketch_ ,” said Kibum’s mother, leaning over his shoulder. “Who’s it of?”  
  
Kibum pulled his sketchbook to his chest, pressing his drawing of Jonghyun’s fucking crooked-ass smile and his sharp canines and his eyes that curved into half-moons. He looked slightly to the side away from his mother. “Nobody,” he muttered.  
  
Kibum’s mother tapped his shoulders. “Come on, Kibum, that’s way too detailed a drawing to not be of anyone.”  
  
Kibum sighed, keeping his eyes trained forward. Jonghyun’s phone had been disconnected for seven days now and all Kibum could do was sketch his dumb face. “A friend,” he exhaled. “He goes to university in Seoul.”  
  
“Oh?” said his mother, curiosity lining her voice. “What is he studying?”  
  
“Business, I think.”  
  
Her hands pulled away from his shoulders and he relaxed his grip on his sketchbook just slightly. He listened to her socked feet patter around on the floor of the kitchen as she walked from place to place, probably gathering ingredients to prepare dinner. Kibum wondered if he could run into his room now but something in the air told him his mother still wanted to talk to him. He just hoped that she wouldn’t ask anything else about Jonghyun, instead talk about work at his dad’s office or maybe whatever non-art university he was looking at now. If he started talking about Jonghyun too much he might just slip up and say something stupid like how Jonghyun smelled like raspberries and vanilla and he slept with his eyes partially open and he smiled at little things like he'd just seen a miracle.  
  
“Maybe you should go visit him, then.”  
  
Kibum’s heart tumbled in his chest. “W-what?” He focused his gaze on his mother, who was fishing around in the fridge with her back to him.  
  
“Maybe in a week or so,” she continued. “Stop by his classes and see if it interests you. Get a taste of the college life, you know.”  
  
Kibum blinked, his blood stilling his veins. “R-really?”  
  
His mother shut the fridge and turned to face him, one hand holding a few plastic cases of already-prepared side-dishes. “Why not? It’ll do you some good to get out of here, anyway. And you must miss him a lot.”  
  
Kibum swallowed, fear rising in his throat like bile. _Fuck_ …  
  
“You usually don’t draw people like that.” She placed the cases on the table and placed her hands on her hips. “Usually it’s just creepy stuff. It’s nice to see you drawing normal things. Attractive boys are especially nice, too,” she added with a grin.  
  
Kibum gave a small nod, turning his head to stare back at the kitchen table. He pressed the sketchbook closer to his chest, fighting against every cell in his brain that told him to climb onto the table and see from joy. He was going to see Jonghyun's stupid, beautiful face again.  
**  
  
Jonghyun hissed, making Kibum flinch and pull away the alcohol-drenched cotton ball from the open cut on Jonghyun’s cheek. “Y-you okay?”  
  
“You know, in this sort of situation, you’re supposed to be the one telling me to suck it up,” Jonghyun replied, closing his eyes and adjusting his position in the hard-backed chair of Kibum’s apartment. “Just clean it up as best as you can. It’s not a deep wound, he just scratched me a bit. What kind of bastard doesn’t take off his rings before you punch someone?” he huffed.  
  
 _Someone who hasn’t hit anyone before_ , Kibum wants to say. Back in college they’d played Never Have I Ever and Jinki had never punched anyone, broken anything out of rage, or given a girl multiple orgasms. Kibum wondered how many of those truths had changed.  
  
“The bandage now. Just stick the cotton pad right against it and tape it down.”  
  
Kibum nodded, placing the now-pink cotton ball on the hand-towel he had spread on his table to host the variety of first-aid equipment he had in his apartment only because Jinki had put it there when he’d first moved in. He separated a cotton pad from its packaging and held it gingerly against Jonghyun’s cheek as his right hand worked at the medical tape. Jonghyun’s fingers brushed his own, and Kibum, in shock mostly, removed his hand. With Jonghyun holding the pad to his cheek, Kibum quickly cut a few strips of the tape and after another minute or so Jonghyun’s cheek was covered.  
  
“I was so worried about you,” Kibum muttered, brushing his fingers softly over Jonghyun’s shoulder. “It looked like so much blood.”  
  
Jonghyun smiled crookedly, making Kibum worry that the wound on his lower lip would reopen. “You’re just a wuss,” he muttered. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Kibum’s cheek, and when he pulled away his eyes were shining. “He barely did anything. It’d take a lot more than a few punches to ruin this beautiful face.”  
  
Kibum chuckled, “I can’t believe I like you. You’re such a cocky bastard.”  
  
Jonghyun laughed and kissed him again, at the corner of his mouth this time. “Would you mind getting me some water? This bastard could really use something to drink.”  
  
Kibum’s mind went blank. Did he have water? When was the last time he and Jinki had gone shopping? Had he drunk it all was there even anything in his kitchen did he--  
  
He exhaled shallowly when he remembered that on Tuesday they’d gone out shopping and Jinki had made him by a huge pack of water bottles. Jinki had told him he had to drink it all in two weeks and Kibum had wondered how many he’d have to pour down the drain.  
  
“S-sure,” Kibum said finally, pushing himself to his feet and making his way over to the fridge. Pulling it open and reaching inside to grab the bottles, he asked loudly, “do you want anything else?”  
  
“Huh? Oh, no. Just water is okay. Thanks.”  
  
Kibum’s brow furrowed as he shut the door to his fridge with his foot and turned back toward Jonghyun. He was looking to his right, staring at something fixedly and curiously. Kibum followed his gaze, then felt every inch his body tense as his eyes met the teeth of that goddamn lion.  
  
“That’s a cool painting,” Jonghyun muttered. “I really like the colors. He looks really angry too. Like he’s gonna eat me or something.”  
  
Kibum’s lungs were tightening, his bones turning to jelly his throat lighting aflame eyes stinging and--  
  
“Woah, woah, Bum, are you okay?”  
  
Kibum tore his eyes away to face Jonghyun. Or at least who he thought was Jonghyun. Everything except that lion had turned into a blur of indiscernible colors. He tried to nod, but his head felt so heavy he struggled to raise it back up again. Jesus he was so off-balance, his steps short and unsure.  
  
Something tightened around Kibum’s wrist. Panic spiked in Kibum’s mind until he felt fingers ease the bottles out of his hands. “Are you okay, Bum? You should sit down.”  
  
Jonghyun sounded almost metallic, his voice sounding in Kibum’s mind with a high-pitched echo. Kibum squinted as a pained groan squeezed itself through his closing throat. “I’m okay, Jonghyun,” he muttered somehow. “I just...I have to paint…”  
  
Jonghyun’s grip only tightened on his wrist, his other hand securing itself on Kibum’s waist, as though to hold him up just in case he fell. “What the fuck, Bum. You need to sit down and have some water or something, not paint.”  
  
“You don’t understand, Jonghyun,” he wheezed. “Let go of me. I have to paint.”  
  
“Kibum that doesn’t make any sense--”  
  
“Let go, Jonghyun,” Kibum muttered, his voice just barely above a whisper because that was as loud as he could get. There were weights on his mind dragging him down down down  
  
He didn’t hear Jonghyun sigh, but he felt his hand fingers release his wrist and relax over his waist. Kibum turned his head toward the lion. It was clear, like the the moon somehow appearing bright and white despite clouds in the sky. Like a nightmare lingering in startling realism despite the morning.  
  
His hands moved automatically toward his palette, waiting from him on the table. He still couldn’t see properly, but somehow he knew where everything was. His limbs moved of his own volition, without even the slightest bit of Kibum’s conscious. In his mind the same words repeated over and over again, like a never ending scenery of sound.  
  
 _I have to paint I have to paint i have to paint i have to paint i have to paint_  
  
The words began to break, to splinter and finally allow Kibum to gain control of his conscious. It was slow, awareness coming in bits and pieces. First he regained feeling in his right hand, feeling the smooth wood of the brush between his fingers and his muscles aching just slightly from keeping his arm up for so long. Then his eyesight began to return, the painting coming into focus and then the rest of his apartment. It looked like he was almost done, his hand working diligently at the beast’s mouth, trying to find the perfect mixture of black and red that lined the lion’s lips.  
  
He let out a heavy breath. It felt like the first time he had breathed in years.  
  
It took a few more minutes for him to fully regain control, and when he did his body felt almost foreign. Heavy.  
  
Kibum looked up at the beast, but it was gone.  
  
Running his tongue over his lips, he grabbed a thinner, fresh brush from the table, scraped up what remained of the pure black paint on his palette, and then signed the lower right corner “ _Key_.”  
  
His arms fell to his sides, the palette and brush slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor. He timed his breaths, tasting the stale, familiar air of his apartment.  
  
A voice spoke up unsurely from behind him. “Um...Kibum?”  
  
Kibum turned on his heel to face Jonghyun, seated on the same chair as earlier, except he had pushed it closer to Kibum’s easel. His face was marked with concern, brow furrowed and teeth biting into the soft flesh of his lower lip. He was going to open his scratches...  
  
Kibum frowned and took a small step toward Jonghyun. He lifted his hand slowly to Jonghyun’s face, uncertainty racing through his veins because he wanted to calm Jonghyun, wanted him to just smile like he was supposed to, but wasn’t sure if it was his place to--  
  
He watched as Jonghyun raised his hand, his fingers burning into Kibum’s elbow and then up his forearm. When his palm was pressed flush against the back of Kibum’s hand, he pulled him slowly, making Kibum take a small step forward as Jonghyun guided Kibum’s hand to cup his uninjured cheek.  
  
He leaned into Kibum’s palm, letting out a small sigh and closing his eyes. “Are you okay, Kibum?”  
  
Kibum held his breath. He stared down at Jonghyun. Jonghyun who hadn’t run away from him, who had taken care of him and let him into his life. Who had been the first in many yearsto rely on Kibum for comfort rather than the other way around. Jonghyun, who had taken a beating from Jinki for this and Jonghyun who had watched Kibum paint as though he were possessed.  
  
The fuck was he supposed to do?  
  
“You can trust me, Kibum,” Jonghyun muttered, his eyes still closed as he brought Kibum’s hand to his lips and softly kissed the heel of his palm. “You can trust me.”  
  
Kibum knew it wasn’t a good idea. He knew in the very core of his being that there was no reason to tell Jonghyun. He knew that he was fucked up beyond belief and involving Jonghyun in his problems would be the worst mistake of his life. Jonghyun didn’t have to be tainted by him. By how gross and incapable he was, by how fucked up he was.  
  
Kibum pursed his lips together, waiting for Jonghyun to move. To do anything because Kibum didn't want to do anything. Kibum wanted to wish this all away, wanted to just wake up and everything be back to normal. This was something Kibum didn't know how to handle and he needed Jonghyun to just do something.  
  
But he didn’t. He stayed perfectly still, his breath tickling the inside of Kibum’s wrist as he waited.  
  
“Jonghyun…,” Kibum muttered, feeling his resolve break away.  
  
“I see things.”  
  
**  
  
“Bum, drink some champagne,” Jonghyun whined from the kitchen.  
  
“I don’t see why I have to drink tonight,” Kibum replied, crossing his arms around his chest and leaning back into Jonghyun’s leather couch. His eyes wandered over to his painting for the day--someone with long hair with their face buried in bright red pasta. It was certainly the most interesting thing he’d painted in a while, and Jonghyun had gotten such a laugh out of it. Kibum had been spending so much time in Jonghyun’s apartment recently the images had begun to appear there instead.  
  
While Jonghyun was at first thrown for a loop when Kibum explained his ability, he had warmed up to it. He liked to drape his arms over Kibum’s shoulders and nibble his ear as he worked (he would have to get up on his toes to do this, of course, but watching Kibum redden and squirm as a result was worth it).  
  
And Kibum had a drawer at Jonghyun’s place full of clothes, and a toothbrush, and a razor, and a boy to snuggle with when they watched movies together. Jonghyun fell asleep during a lot of them, and Kibum promised himself that one day he’d eat lots of food and be able to carry Jonghyun into bed.  
  
“But it’s a celebration!” Jonghyun cried, pointing at the champagne bottle resting on the marble island. “We _have_ to open champagne.”  
  
“Then you drink some,” Kibum replied, yawning into his hand. He looked up at the clock: fifteen minutes until midnight.  
  
“You know I don’t drink,” Jonghyun continued in that desperate, high-pitched voice. Kibum’s eyes shifted to watch Jonghyun walk around the couch and approach Kibum with the bottle in one hand and a single champagne flute in the other. Kibum knew exactly what Jonghyun was going to do before he had even reached Kibum, who pushed himself to sit up properly and opened his arms in preparation.  
  
Jonghyun pushed himself onto the couch on his knees, straddling Kibum. Kibum smirked and put his hands on Jonghyun’s thighs.  
  
“Come on, Bum,” Jonghyun complained, leaning back so he was practically sitting on Kibum’s legs. “Just one glass. For me.”  
  
“You’re so whiny,” Kibum sighed, running his hands up Jonghyun’s sides to squeeze at his tiny waist. “Fine.”  
  
Jonghyun smiled widely. “Yay!” He leaned down and Kibum titled his head upward so their lips met in a brief kiss. “And you like your whiny boyfriend, don’t you?”  
  
“Just open the bottle already, I’ll need a lot more alcohol if you go on like this.”  
  
“We can’t open it until midnight,” he replied. He curved at his waist to try and get a proper look at the time. “What time is is anyway?”  
  
Kibum leaned to the left to look around Jonghyun. “Eleven fifty-one.”  
  
Jonghyun leaned backward, Kibum lowering his hands to Jonghyun’s thighs to keep him stable as he placed the bottle and flute on the coffee table, then pushed himself back up to Kibum. Grinning, he ran his left hand through Kibum’s hair and leaned in to kiss his temple, his other hand flat on Kibum’s chest.  
  
“Did you ever think this would happen?” Jonghyun whispered.  
  
“You’ve been on my lap tons of times by now,” Kibum replied with a smirk. “Your bony ass digging into my legs is not a surprise anymore.”  
  
Jonghyun chuckled. “That’s not what I meant.” He pulled away, keeping his hands where they were on Kibum. “I mean, like, you’re a successful artist nine minutes away from celebrating your boyfriend’s debut.”  
  
“Eight minutes now,” Kibum corrected, squeezing Jonghyun’s thighs. Color rushed to Jonghyun’s cheeks as he lowered his right hand to pick up Kibum’s and moved both back to his waist. “But yeah,” Kibum exhaled. “I guess I never would have seen this coming.”  
  
“I’m the most surprising part, aren’t I?” teased Jonghyun with a smile, running his thumb along Kibum’s hairline.  
  
Kibum shrugged, “I guess. I never thought I’d see you again.”  
  
Jonghyun pushed out his lower lip. “That’s not what I mean,” he pouted. “You’re supposed to say you would have never imagined having such a beautiful boyfriend.”  
  
Laughing, Kibum pulled on Jonghyun’s waist, bringing him down into a kiss. As usual, Jonghyun’s lips were soft and lovely.  
  
But Jonghyun broke it way too early, not only separating their lips but climbing off Kibum entirely. “H-hey.” The protest slipped from Kibum’s lips unconsciously, making Jonghyun chuckle as he scurried off into his bedroom.  
  
“One second!” Jonghyun called back. He was out of Kibum’s sight for only a few more seconds until he hurried back, holding in his arms a long and thin present in golden wrapping paper. The confusion must have shown on his face, because Jonghyun grinned widely as he settled back onto Kibum’s lap.  
  
“W-what is this?” Kibum asked, taking the present from Jonghyun.  
  
“A thank you,” Jonghyun replied, “for helping with the album and everything. And for just being the best boyfriend ever twenty-four seven.”  
  
Kibum scoffed. “I dunno about that last part, but thanks.” He ran his thumb over the wrapping and looked back up at Jonghyun. “Is it okay if I open it now?”  
  
“I wouldn’t have given it to you now if I didn’t want you to open it now,” Jonghyun replied. “Go on.”  
  
Kibum unwrapped the present carefully, confusion growing inside of him as its contents slowly revealed themselves. He looked back up at Jonghyun. “Are these--”  
  
Jonghyun must have been too impatient, as his hands soon joined Kibum’s in ripping the wrapping paper from the package.  
  
“Magic markers?” Kibum asked incredulously, looking up to see Jonghyun smiling at him proudly.  
  
“Yeah,” said Jonghyun, his voice lined with mirth. “A return to our roots, you know? Kibum, the kid with his magic markers.”  
  
Kibum ran his thumb over the park of markers. He licked his lips. “Do you remember...when he first hung out in that clearing?”  
  
Jonghyun nodded. “Yeah.” Then, he smile widened even more, pressing his eyes into those sweet half-moons. “You drew on my chest.”  
  
Kibum lifted one hand to Jonghyun’s shirt, lifting it slightly as he smirked, “Take it off.”  
  
Jonghyun, laughing, lowered his hands to the hem of his shirt and pulled it upward, wiggling out of it as Kibum opened the marker packet.  
  
“What are you going to draw?” Jonghyun sing-songed, placing both of his hands on Kibum’s shoulders.  
  
Kibum licked his lips, fishing out the red marker from the packet and uncapping it. “It’s a surprise.”  
  
His hand moved automatically, the next few seconds passed so fluidly and effortlessly they didn’t even feel like seconds at all. Like time didn’t even exist anymore, and there was just Jonghyun, siting on his lap and smiling crookedly, with “ _I love you_ ” scribbled on his chest.  
  
Jonghyun had watched his hand move, was able to make out the words despite looking at them upside down. And when Kibum lowered his arm Jonghyun was pushing him back forward, wrapping his lips around Kibum’s upper one.  
Jonghyun pulled away, and whispered softly into Kibum’s ear.  
  
“I love you, too.”  
  
**  
  
 _Kibum was on a train_ to Seoul a week after his mother suggested the trip. He had lied and said he knew what school Jonghyun went to, lied and said he had picked some classes to sit in on, lied and said Jonghyun was excited to see him. He had lied and lied and lied and what the fuck was he doing?  
  
He had money for a hostel for two nights, a list of universities with business departments, his sketchbook, a change of clothes, some high-quality pencils and his magic markers in his backpack.  
  
And what the fuck was he doing?  
  
This was crazy. He was crazy. Sketching the same guy over and over, lying to his parents, going to Seoul alone with no guarantee he would actually find him...it was ridiculous.  
  
“What is wrong with me?” he muttered, leaning his head against the window and sighing.  
  
Why was he even so obsessed with Jonghyun, anyway? He couldn’t even remember the name of the first girl he kissed, had forgotten what his last girlfriend tasted like.  
  
Yet this one guy with crooked teeth was fucking him sideways.  
  
And then, it all fucking made sense. All the pieces flew together, like a puzzle somehow connecting all on its own.  
  
“Holy fuck.”  
  
He sat up straight in his seat.  
  
“I’m fucking in love with Jonghyun.”


	5. The Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN FOREVER AND I'M SORRY I'M SO SORRY I JUST....there's a lot of reasons behind why this took me approximately 70 years to get up, but I don't want to talk about them here, but you'll see them at the end of this chapter...if you read my tumblr post from a while ago, I changed my mind, so this is the only chapter going up today (though it is in two parts). I'll explain more at the end of the chapter.

"Fuck, Kibum, faster,” Jonghyun groaned beneath him, his eyes clenched tightly in pleasure.  He squeezed his fingers against the back of Kibum’s neck, his other hand tightening around Kibum’s forearm. “Fuck me faster.”  
  
“I don’t see why you get to order me around,” Kibum said, pulling out entirely and then snapping his hips against Jonghyun’s, making him groan and drop his head back into the pillows.  
  
“D-don’t act like you don’t love this ass,” he breathed in reply, locking his ankles around Kibum and pulling him forward.  
  
“I would like your ass more if you were louder,” he hissed. “Like what you promised when I first almost fucked you. Got your cock stiff and had you moaning against me like the little cockslut you are.”  
  
“Fuck me faster and I’ll—ugh, oh fucking—”  
  
“Ow, Jesus fuck,” Kibum swore, sitting up in bed and nursing the wrist of his left arm, which he had banged against the nightstand in his sleep. He sighed, staring up at the wall and frowning at his situation. He could feel his cock straining against his boxers and looked down at the tent in his sheets. Great.  
  
“I’m a fucking moron,” he muttered, pushing himself off the bed and onto his feet. He reached for his phone to check the time: five thirty-seven am. He had only slept for around two hours. And he was supposed to see Jonghyun today, too.  
  
While Jonghyun and his company had originally had no plans of promoting his first album, the one radio interview he had scheduled caused his title track to virtually perform an all-kill. Not only had Jonghyun done a fabulous job of presenting himself as a suave and romantic artist, but he had come out unashamedly on broadcast, thus gaining him the support of the younger, more progressive generation. The statements from various broadcast organizations that they would not feature or promote a gay artist only heightened the attention on Jonghyun, who was quickly made up and shoved onto a stage in front of screaming fanboys and girls before he could fully process it.  
  
Thinking of Jonghyun’s suddenly busy schedule made Kibum sigh loudly. There was no way in hell he was going to go back to sleep, and now he had to deal with the hot erection pressing against his boxers.  
  
He stared at the door leading to his bathroom, feeling his stomach twist.  
  
Kibum pushed these feelings down as best as he could, ignoring the chills that played with his skin as he rose to his feet and almost stumbled into the bathroom. Without even shutting the door behind him, he leaned against the sink and stared at the shower, swallowing thickly.  
  
He knew showers were necessities to all human beings, and by taking one he could kill two birds with one stone: clean himself up for Jonghyun and take care of his dumbass hard-on.  
  
He tightened his jaw and glanced down at his boxers again. “Fuck you,” he hissed before facing forward once more.  
  
Kibum strode forward with false confidence, pulled open the shower curtain and turned the handle so water crashed almost explosively onto the tile. He threw off his clothes hurriedly, leaving them scattered carelessly on the floor, more and then stepped in.  
  
The water was still lukewarm, comfortable against his skin. He was tempted to turn the handle a bit so it wouldn't heat up anymore, but knew perfectly well that the easiest way to solve his more pressing problem would be with steaming hot water.  
  
Bending his knees slightly and pressing his left hand flat against the wall, he wrapped his other around his cock. Closing his eyes, he began to stroke up and down, eventually working himself to a rapid speed. Pleasure sent shivers through his nerves, a groan spilling unwillingly from his lips.  
  
Despite this, he felt disgusting. Disgusting because the water pounding against his back was so goddamn hot it was making him sweat, disgusting because he was masturbating in the shower like a goddamn hormonal teenager, and disgusting because was imagining fucking a guy who had told him “no.”  
  
**  
  
Jonghyun hugged him the moment Kibum opened the door. “I missed you,” he whined, pressing a kiss to Kibum’s cheek.  
  
Kibum struggled to close the door with Jonghyun practically leaning his entire weight against him. “I missed you, too,” he said, wondering if his voice sounded breathless because of Jonghyun's body pressing against him. He let out a small grunt when he somehow managed to push the door shut.  
  
“I didn't think I could survive without seeing you for so long,” Jonghyun muttered, bending his neck to rub his cheek into Kibum’s chest. He inhaled deeply and then smiled. “You smell nice.”  
  
Pride swelled in Kibum's chest, until he remembered what had happened that morning. Shame burning his cheeks and twisting in his insides, he looked away and patted Jonghyun's back gingerly. “C-come on, get off me already.”  
  
“No,” Jonghyun replied, rubbing his cheek against Kibum’s chest again. “You really need to buy a couch...but for now let's just go to your bed.” Kibum’s heart flipped in his chest. “We can snuggle there.”  
  
“O-oh,” Kibum muttered as Jonghyun finally let go of him to take off his shoes. It was not until this moment that Kibum got a good look at his boyfriend. His face was covered in BB cream, effectively hiding every pore and imperfection in his skin. His eye-shadow was a dark bronze that made his eyes look dark and powerful, especially under his perfectly styled eyebrows, creating masculine and angular impression that faded quickly when Jonghyun looked back up at him and smiled in that childish way of his.  
  
“Let's go,” Jonghyun prompted, reaching forward to entwine his fingers with Kibum’s.  
  
Kibum pulled his hand away, dropping his gaze to the floor. Jesus Christ he was disgusting and Jonghyun was going to fucking touch the hand he had used to jack off in the shower a few hours before and why the fuck had he even allowed Jonghyun to touch him? His chest and his cheek burned, Jonghyun’s lingering warmth burning through his skin burning holes into him Jonghyun must be hurting too Kibum must have poisoned him hurt him he must be hurting and it would be Kibum’s fault fucking fucking fucking Kibum so goddamn gross so goddamn—  
  
“Kibum, what’s wrong?” Jonghyun’s voice was feather light, but somehow still able to echo in Kibum’s mind despite the thoughts painting his mind totally black.  
  
“I think you should leave,” he muttered.  
  
“W-why? I just got here and I wanted to talk to you.”  
  
Kibum’s blood froze in his veins. He lifted a hand and gripped his forearm tightly, twisting the skin until a pained hiss escaped his lips.  
  
Jonghyun reached out his hand, wrapping it tightly around Kibum’s wrist. “Bum,” he breathed. “Don’t. Please.”  
  
Jonghyun pulled at his wrist forcefully, the action sending Kibum forward a small step.  He looked up instinctively, his eyes meeting Jonghyun’s rounded ones. “Babe, come on,” Jonghyun said, the desperation in his voice obvious even though Kibum was pretty sure he was trying to hide it. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”  
  
Jonghyun’s eyes were digging into Kibum’s own and his fingers hot against Kibum’s skin.  
  
Letting out a shallow exhale, Kibum nodded. “Okay.”  
  
Jonghyun nodded back. “Good, now can you let go of your arm now?”  
  
“O-oh,” Kibum stuttered, removing his hand from his arm, marked red and stinging. Jonghyun was still holding onto his wrist, so Kibum wrapped his other arm around his waist to keep that god-awful feeling of exposure at bay.  
  
“Is your bed okay?” Jonghyun questioned. “Like, to lie on it together while we talk?”  
  
Kibum paused, prompting Jonghyun to continue. “There’s no other place for us than the floor…”  
  
Sighing, Kibum nodded and let Jonghyun lead him into his bedroom. Jonghyun knew well enough where it was now, as in the passing weeks they had spent time together in his apartment rather than Jonghyun’s, since Kibum lived closer to Jonghyun’s company building.  
  
Jonghyun pulled him up on the bed, guiding him right to the center. He used his spare hand to turn Kibum’s two pillows vertically, propping them up so the two could lean against the headboard without the wood digging into their backs.  
  
Jonghyun laid down first, on his back with this torso propped up by one of the pillows. He tugged on Kibum’s wrist, who followed his lead, but settled himself on his side and lower down so he could rest his face on Jonghyun’s chest. Jonghyun chuckled at the action but said nothing. He let go of Kibum’s wrist and moved his hand to toy lightheartedly with Kibum’s hair.  
  
Kibum’s stomach was still filled with tar, but to say Jonghyun’s warmth pressed up against him was a discomfort would be a lie. He could feel Jonghyun’s heart beating just above his ear, Jonghyun’s fingers twisting in his hair. Unconsciously, Kibum’s hand traveled to one of the buttons of Jonghyun’s shirt, just above his belly button. He rolled the rounded button between his fingers, not even noticing what he was doing until Jonghyun raised his own free hand.  
  
He entwined his fingers around Kibum’s, resting their hands against his abdomen.  
  
Kibum could feel his chest expand as Jonghyun inhaled deeply.  
  
“Kibum,” Jonghyun began, his voice soft, like paper that had been folded over and over a thousand times. “I want to tell you something about me.”  
  
Kibum waited, his brain firing off millions of questions. What could Jonghyun possibly have to say? Kibum knew everything there was to know about him. Jonghyun liked his coffee with heaps of sugar and cream. Jonghyun was secretly studying French because he thought it was romantic. Jonghyun had nightmares sometimes and then, after a one, Jonghyun wanted nothing more than for Kibum to hold him until he would fall back asleep.  
  
A minute turned into two, two into four as Kibum waited on Jonghyun’s chest. Waited for the other man to speak as he felt Jonghyun’s heartbeat grow faster and faster, his palm becoming sticky with sweat where it was joined with Kibum’s.  
  
“Is it hard to talk about?” Kibum whispered, rubbing a small circle into the side of Jonghyun’s hand.  
  
Jonghyun seemed a bit taken aback by Kibum’s words, his fingers pausing in the strands of Kibum’s hair. He swallowed thickly. “Y-yeah.”  
  
Kibum waited a moment before replying. “You don’t have to tell me, then.”  
  
“But, Bum,” Jonghyun stuttered, his voice strained. “I want to tell you.”  
  
“But you don’t,” he replied. “If it hurts, you don’t want to tell me. Because that’ll just make it worse, right?.”  
  
“W-why would letting you know making it any worse?”  
  
“Because it means you can’t ignore it anymore. When you tell someone, it makes everything real.”  
  
Jonghyun inhaled deeply, Kibum’s head rising and then falling with his chest. “Do you regret telling me about your visions?”  
  
Kibum thought for a moment. “No,” he exhaled. “Because they were already real. They’re not just in my head...but your nightmares are just in your head.” He paused, allowing Jonghyun the chance to speak up. Jonghyun did not take the opportunity. “Looking at you, Jonghyun, no one would know. Anyone can reach out and touch you, have a cup of coffee with you, and not know a thing. I’m not the same, though. One glance at me and everyone knows—”  
  
He was cut off by Jonghyun suddenly turning to his side, wrapping both arms around Kibum and pulling him to his chest. He let out a strangled cry, pressing one hand against Kibum’s head. “I love you so much, Kibum,” Jonghyun choked. “Please…”  
  
Kibum was pinned against Jonghyun’s chest, his arms crammed between their bodies.  Jonghyun’s chest heaved, his breaths ragged and strained. Kibum managed to squirm one arm out, sliding it over Jonghyun’s side and over the warm expanse of his back.  
  
“Don’t tell me, Jonghyun,” he muttered. “Don’t make it real.”  
  
**  
  
 _Kibum arrived in Seoul_ Station at seven pm. He searched through his phone for directions to the hostel, checked in and put down his stuff. His roommate was absent, however, allowing Kibum to let out a loud sigh and lie uselessly on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.  
  
His phone buzzed. His mother had sent a text, asking if the trip was okay and if he had met back up with Jonghyun. Kibum typed out a quick reply that yes the trip had been fine and he and Jonghyun were out eating now. The lie made him realize he hadn’t eaten since he had left home, so he slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed out into the city.  
  
Fortunately for him, his hostel was located right beside a number of streets dedicated to food and bars. He walked past only half a block before finding a ramen place that seemed cheap and empty enough. He ordered a bowl and, as he waited for the food to arrive, produced from his backpack the list of universities, laptop, pen, and a map of the city he had picked up from the station.  
  
The ramen arrived at his table and he pushed his laptop back to make room for the stone bowl bubbling angrily and sending steam straight into his face. His stomach growled in desperation, but he forced himself to connect to the wi-fi on his laptop first and then dig in, probably sparing himself a burnt tongue in the process.  
  
He marked the approximate location of his hostel on his map with one hand, skillfully slurping noodles with the other as he did so. He had a long day ahead of him tomorrow, but he might as well figure out the smartest route to visit as many universities as possible. Sure, there were cafés where he’d look less out of place doing this kind of work, but he was already settled and the wi-fi connection was fine. He could ignore the shop owner’s eyes boring into his back.  
  
Half-way through marking the various universities on his map, he realized he had no idea how to actually find Jonghyun once he got there. It took a few minutes of slurping noodles to decide that he would have to talk to the businesses professors at each school and ask if they had a Kim Jonghyun, then find out if that Kim Jonghyun was _his_ Kim Jonghyun.  
  
Kibum shivered at the thought. _His_ Jonghyun.  
  
He finished marking all the locations, sucked up the last bit of broth from the bowl and paid. His laptop was running out of battery but he didn’t want to go back to the hostel just yet. Sure, he wasn’t in Seoul to sight-see or anything, but he was still in Seoul. Seoul with its thousands upon thousands of people, street vendors all offering the same products once you walked past enough blocks and paid enough attention, bars upon bars upon cafés upon more bars and then restaurants galore. The air tasted of cigarette smoke, aflame with the conversations of passerby and voices radiating from within the small restaurants that lined the pedestrian streets. More than once his mouth began to water when the scent of barbeque met his nose, even though he had just eaten. Without slowing his pace, he looked up at the black sky and the tall skyscrapers some distance away that replaced the missing stars.  
  
“Wow,” he muttered, looking back in front of him and shaking his head in disbelief.  
  
He stopped at a café, contemplated getting something caffeinated before deciding that even though he still had a lot of work in front of him he needed to get a good amount of sleep. He ordered hot chocolate and by an actual miracle managed to find a seat right beside an outlet. Plugging in his computer, he felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out to find another message from his mother. “ _Love you. Have fun_.”  
  
He decided not to respond.  
  
It took two hours for Kibum to find all the information he needed. He left the café with not only a route planned for the next day but also the names of various professors at each university that taught classes Jonghyun might be enrolled in. He arrived back at the hostel at around eleven-thirty to find his roommate still missing. Probably out drinking. Kibum gathered his things, took a quick shower in the shared bathrooms down the hall, and then settled into bed.  
  
Sleep, however, didn’t come to him.  
  
Kibum squirmed, flipping the pillow over to its cooler side before groaning and sitting up. He flicked on the lamp beside the bed and lifted his backpack off the floor. Resting it beside him, he unzipped it and pulled out his sketchbook. Even though he was still partially blinded by the light from the lamp, his fingers found the page he was looking for out of habit, and he held it open on his lap until his eyes had adjusted well enough.  
  
It was one of many, _many_ sketches Kibum had done of Jonghyun in the weeks that had passed. This one, however, may be one of his favorites. A lot were of Jonghyun smiling, or pouting jokingly, or singing, as those were the three things Jonghyun probably did the most. But this sketch was of his sleeping face, eyes open just a sliver, his hair disheveled and lips partially open.  
  
Kibum sighed. He knew fully well how desperate and pathetic he must look.  
  
“You had better have a good reason for ignoring me or I’m going to bite off your dick,” he muttered.  
  
**  
  
Kibum woke up at five pm, having finally fallen asleep at noon because he had stayed up late into the night to listen to Jonghyun guesting on some radio show, and then stayed up for hours later typing his boyfriend’s name into Naver and seeing what results came up. And then Jonghyun had called, because the filming for a variety show he had just wrapped up.  
  
(“ _I wanted to hear your voice before I went back home and passed out from exhaustion_ ,” he had said, the exhaustion weighing down his words. “ _I miss you. I didn’t know I could survive without seeing your for so long_.”  
  
Kibum had scoffed, “it’s only been four days. And it’s your own fault for being so talented and popular. If your album hadn’t been such a hit, you’d be at home with me rather than doing all these sudden promotions.”  
  
“ _Remind me to write worse songs next time_.”)  
  
Kibum pressed his hand to his forehead, curling into a tighter ball on his bed. He felt like shit. No surprise there.  
  
He scoured his brain for the last thing he had eaten, eventually deciding that it had been a bag of potato chips about twenty-four hours ago. That would explain why he felt like his insides were being pulled inside-out.  
  
Usually, the nausea and what-not came in waves, always significantly worse once he woke up, and then plateauing after a short while so he would be well enough to rise to his feet. He decided that he should eat something, even if he felt like he would just throw it up. Jonghyun had made him promise an apple a day, and he’d gone four days without even seeing the fruit. He wondered briefly how long it might take him to develop scurvy.  
  
However, this time the nausea did not fade. Instead, a shiver passed down his spine, as though someone had breathed against the back of his neck. His skin itched as though prodded by a thousand curious fingers. The slight, almost electrical buzz that emerged in the air brought sparks to his lips and eyes. This uncomfortable yet familiar sensation washed over him for some minutes, and he let it, knowing full well what was expected of him now but still pretending he could stay in bed and ignore it. Ignore it and ignore it until it went away.  
  
Soon the fingers grew blazing hot, burning holes into his flesh and he was seeing red and yellow on the back of his eyelids. His stomach curled up to his chest and he couldn’t ignore it any longer.  
  
Sighing, he rolled himself carefully onto his back before sluggishly pushing up his torso. He leaned back on his hands and looked up to see the visitor to his bedroom.  
  
It was a man, a few years older than Kibum, sitting on the dresser across from him. His back was to the wall, head pressed up against it with eyes closed as though in slumber, raven hair pushed carelessly behind his ears. He was pretty attractive, with high cheekbones and soft, plump limps half-open as though in exhale.  
  
Kibum’s eyes traveled down his long neck to the gray t-shirt that hung loosely from his shoulders, exposing sharp collarbones. One arm was draped casually over his left knee, the same leg propped up while the other was stretched out before him. His skinny jeans sported holes on the knees as a testament to time spent worn and washed rather than a fashion statement, Kibum guessed. His feet were bare and, as Kibum noticed with a laugh, a bit small.  
  
“It’s okay buddy,” he chuckled, the weight on his chest having lessened just from looking at his model. “A big dick isn’t everything.”  
  
He turned and slid off the bed, losing balance momentarily. He caught himself with a quick hand pressed to his nightstand, and let out a wracking sigh of relief.  
  
Kibum managed to straighten his back and stumble into the main room, his vision going almost cross-eyed. Somehow, he managed to gather a canvas and a plastic box full of erasers and pencils. He made his way slowly back to his bedroom, climbing onto his bed on his hands and knees and laying out the various utensils around him. He placed the canvas on his lap, pencil in hand, and looked back up at his model.  
  
His position was awkward, to say the least, and Kibum hadn’t had a human model in such detail like this for quite a while. All his basic knowledge about proportions had washed away with time, and he found himself struggling with what twenty-year-old Kibum could have probably accomplished in the amount of time it took for microwave ramen to finish cooking. Which was, of course, the prime time for getting work done back when he was in university.  
  
He sighed as he erased a large chunk of the man’s arm, realizing he had drawn the shoulder line way too short. He cast the model a displeased glance. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”  
  
**  
  
As Kibum was finally finishing the sketch some hours later his phone went off. Kibum’s heart skipped a beat as he pushed himself off his bed and grabbed his phone from the table. Jonghyun had probably woken up from his nap and--  
  
Kibum’s heart sank at the number flashing on his screen. He had deleted Jinki’s contact info but still saw his number at least twice every day.  
  
It had been more often before. He had thrown his phone angrily against a wall so many times it was amazing it only had a few cracks. He knew he could block Jinki’s number. But he hadn’t.  
  
Kibum let the phone ring. Eventually, Jinki gave up on the other end. The phone beeped when Jinki finished his message, and Kibum immediately deleted his voice mail.  
  
He turned around on his heel to face his model, sitting almost angelically on his dresser like he was bathing in sunlight rather than the shitty lighting of Kibum’s bedroom.  
  
Kibum curled his hands into a fist and walked into his kitchen. He threw open his refrigerator door so strongly it let out a _pop_ as though in warning that he might pull the door right off its hinges. He stared at the contents of the refrigerator, wondering why exactly he was here now. It wasn’t a very full refrigerator to say the least, containing a large bag of apples, plastic bottles of water, and a small carton of eggs. He had some bowls of ramen in his cabinets, because unhealthy food was better than no food sometimes, and he could put an egg in them and it was slightly more substantial.  
  
His eyes focused on the bag of apples, recalling his promise to Jonghyun. Sighing, he reached into the bag and grabbed one. He ran some water over it briefly and then took a large bite. The juices ran down his chin and a few pittered onto the floor. He was tempted to throw it out then and there, his insides clenching because of the mess he had went and made like a dumbass, but managed to calm himself down enough to eat half of it before tossing it in the trash. He wiped up the water from the floor with a hand towel then cleaned his face in his kitchen sink.  
  
If he washed his face in the bathroom he’d have to look at himself and that sure as fuck wasn’t something he wanted to do. Not now, anyway.  
  
A knock at the door sent Kibum’s eyes forward, his fingers tightening into the skin of his forearms as his insides twisted.  
  
A voice sounded through the door, one that calmed Kibum’s heart before his mind even processed who it was.  
  
“ _Bummmmmm. Lemme in._ ”  
  
A smile pulled at the corners of Kibum’s lips as he practically skipped over to the door. Swinging it open to see Jonghyun smiling at him. Kibum blinked, taking in his boyfriend’s surprisingly casual appearance. He was wearing tight, holey jeans and a t-shirt that hugged his waist and chest, his face void of any and all make-up for the first time since his promotions began.  
  
Jonghyun stepped into Kibum’s apartment, toeing off his shoes and springing forward, spinning around and triumphantly waving a black plastic back in Kibum’s face. “I ordered chicken mayo,” he announced happily. “You’re eating good tonight, babe.”  
  
Kibum laughed, shutting the door and heading toward the center table of the main room, moving a number of canvases and paints to the floor to make room as Jonghyun moved carried two chairs closer. Then Jonghyun placed the bag on the table, fingers working rapidly at the knot before it finally came undone and he pulled out two sealed plastic bowls and a roll of kimbab.  
  
“Eat up,” he said with a smile, kissing Kibum on the top of the head as he placed a spoon and a pair of chopsticks on top of Kibum’s container.  
  
“You’re such a sap,” Kibum huffed, pushing Jonghyun playfully onto the chair opposite him. Jonghyun chuckled and pulled his chair closer to Kibum’s so their knees bumped each other under the table. “Don’t you know what personal space is?”  
  
“Never heard of it,” Jonghyun sing-songed in reply, popping off the top of his container. He let out a groan, the smell of chicken and flavored rice making his mouth water. Kibum, on the other hand, didn’t have a negative reaction to the flavor; rather, he had no reaction what-so-ever. But he would probably be able to eat a little, and that would make Jonghyun smile and kiss his cheek.  
  
As Jonghyun mixed together his food with his spoon, smacking his lips deliciously. Kibum set himself to the task of making his own meal. He wondered if he should use the packaged mayonnaise and soy sauce, as they did constitute most of the flavor of chicken mayo.  
  
“Say ah,” instructed Jonghyun suddenly. Kibum raised his head to see Jonghyun offering him a spoonful of rice and chicken. Kibum reached forward, opening his mouth wide only for Jonghyun to retract his hand at the last second. Kibum narrowed his eyes at the other man, who broke out into a mischievous smile.  
  
“Sorry,” he said, holding the spoon toward Kibum again. “You’re just too cute to not tease.”  
  
Kibum huffed, wrapping his hands around Jonghyun’s to keep him from moving again as he reached forward and ate from Jonghyun’s spoon.  
  
The merits of a tasteless chicken mayo sparked in Kibum’s mind as the flavors of Jonghyun’s heavily sauced meal invaded his mouth, sliding down his throat thickly and pressing against his tongue like weights. It was too much. On top of the half-apple he had eaten earlier, he felt like he might burst from over-exerting his own stomach. His eyes flashed to Jonghyun, who was thankfully staring back down at his own dish, trying to spear a piece of chicken with the small prongs at the end of his spoon.  
  
By the time Jonghyun looked up, Kibum had recovered and was using his spoon as a wedge to separate a piece of chicken from its skin.  
  
“So,” Jonghyun began, leaning over the table on his elbows. “What have you been up to recently?”  
  
Kibum shrugged. “Nothing really. Three days ago there was a weird-ass iguana just sitting on my window-sill,” he said, pointing with his spoon to the window. “And today there’s a man in my bedroom. I haven’t finished him yet though. I haven’t drawn a full human in a real long time.”  
  
“A man?” parroted Jonghyun, shoving another spoonful into his mouth. He didn’t even finish chewing before continuing, “is he cuter than me?”  
  
Kibum frowned in mock disgust, moving his bowl away from Jonghyun and his spit. “Ninety-nine point seven percent of the human population is cuter than you.”  
  
“But that means point three percent of the population is less cute than me.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean you’re cute.”  
  
Jonghyun speared a piece of chicken, staring at Kibum straight in the eyes as he secured his teeth around the small prongs and twisted his head slightly to the side, like an animal tearing apart his prey. “I’m adorable,” he declared.  
  
Kibum rolled his eyes.  
  
The rest of their meal was rather uneventful, Jonghyun practically dominating the conversation once Kibum asked about his promotions, which would come to an end in a few days after his goodbye stages. Kibum listened to him intently, eating the white meat of the chicken once he had pulled off the skin and then stirring his food aimlessly once he could eat no longer.  
  
Jonghyun stretched his hands over his head once he had finished his meal, letting out a contented sigh. “Well,” he breathed, pushing himself to his feet and tossing his and Kibum’s bowls into the plastic bag. He rewrapped the kimbab, eying Kibum as he said, “I’m going to put this in the fridge so you’ve gotta eat it later today. Promise?”  
  
Kibum nodded.  
  
After Jonghyun had cleaned up for the two, he pulled out his phone to briefly check the time. “I’ve only got a little while before they want me at the studio.”  
  
Kibum frowned. “Another interview?”  
  
“This is the last one,” Jonghyun clarified. “Then tomorrow morning I’ve got a goodbye stage, then my very last one the day after that.”  
  
Kibum picked at the paint on the table. “You’ve been working really hard.”  
  
There was a brief pause before Jonghyun spoke up, “Come on, I want to see your painting.”  
  
Kibum looked up, eyes settling on where Jonghyun was leaning against his refrigerator. “Now? I’ve barely started it, honestly,” he replied. “I had to do a rough outline in pencil since it had been so long since I drew a human, and I just finished that when you arrived. I’ll probably have to finish it soon though... I can feel a headache coming on from leaving it while we were eating.”  
  
Pushing himself from the refrigerator, Jonghyun walked over to stand in the threshold leading to Kibum’s room. He grabbed the frame and leaned his upper body in, curving to see the canvas where it was lying face-up on the bed. “I have to make sure this boy isn’t cuter than me, that he’s not a threa—”  
  
As Jonghyun spoke, Kibum had risen from his seat and was making his way toward him. When the other suddenly stopped talking, Kibum froze in place, brows furrowing in confusion.  
  
Jonghyun let go of the door frame, almost falling forward into the bedroom. Kibum’s heart leaped to his throat. He made one long stride toward Jonghyun, mouth opening to speak before the words were snatched from his throat.  
  
Jonghyun had fallen to his knees on Kibum’s floor, his back to Kibum and head hanging low. Fear froze the blood in Kibum’s veins, rooted him to the threshold of his door to stare down at Jonghyun. _W-what the fuck is going on_?  
  
He could just barely see in Jonghyun’s lap the whiteness of his canvas, made all the more evident when Jonghyun twisted at his waist to face him. He looked Kibum dead in the eye, sending shivers down his spine. Jonghyun’s eyes were glassy and wide with confusion.  
  
"Kibum,” he breathed, his grip tightening around the canvas’s wooden rim. “Why are you drawing Taemin?”

**

“ _Kim Jonghyun? You mean_ the graduate student?”  
  
“Ah, I think I’m in the wrong department…” stuttered Kibum, raising a hand to the back of his neck and shuffling his feet awkwardly against the floor of the professor’s office. This was the sixth office he’d visited today, and his sixth time having to weasel himself out a strange confrontation. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, professor.”  
  
He was out the door in the next second. Frankly, Kibum wasn’t quite sure if the information he was asking for was legal for him to acquire. All he was doing was approaching professors and asking if they had a student named Kim Jonghyun, so it probably was fine but that failed to make him any less nervous.  
  
He walked quickly out of the building, almost at a jog, maintaining this pace until he found himself outside, breathing in the chill November air. Slowing to a stroll through the campus, he pulled the city map and pen from his pocket, marking off this university with a sigh. Six down, twelve more to go.  
  
His stomach growled, prompting Kibum to pull out his phone and glance at the time. It was well past noon and he hadn’t eaten anything all day. There was also a text from his mother dated about a half hour previous. She asked if he was well and having fun, and he typed a speedy reply, making up a lie about being out snacking with Jonghyun and his friends right now. A moment later he added onto the lie, stating they had plans to go out drinking in Hongdae that night.  
  
He shook off the fingers digging into his back. He had never lied to his parents like this before. Sure, he had fibbed about his homework and grades more often than he could count on his fingers and toes, and he was keeping the more romantic nature of his relationship with Jonghyun a secret; but if he were to go back in time to a year previous and tell his past self he’d be in Seoul by himself after lying to his parents, past Kibum would have laughed in his face.  
  
Kibum sighed, shaking his head to cast away such thoughts and glancing down at the map. There was another school just a few blocks down, so Kibum decided to walk it rather than getting on the subway (which was chipping away at his pocket money more than Kibum had expected).  
  
On the way, Kibum bought himself fishcakes on a stick, eating as he walked and maneuvered through the crowds of people down sidewalks that felt way too narrow for the massive population of the city.  
  
Kibum honestly would not have noticed the university if he had not been scanning each and every direction for a trashcan. The main entrance was on the opposite side of the block, the only indication that the small open area, crammed between towering buildings and overflowing streets, was a school being people loitering outside and puffing on cigarettes. They all looked college age, this accentuated by the backpacks hanging off their shoulders.  
  
Kibum crossed the street, heading toward the supposed campus. When he arrived, he turned off the sidewalk and meandered through the small open space as he wondered if this were really the place he was looking for. His eyes caught a seal engraved on one of the stone buildings, and he let out an exhale. This was the school he was looking for.  
  
Narrowing his eyes, he scoured the area for a map of some kind. Eventually, he found a map nailed onto the side of a tree (as well as a trashcan). It was a rather small university, so it didn’t take him long to locate the business building on the map or on the actual campus. After entering the business department, he leaned against a wall and pulled out the map once more, scouring the messily-written numbers beside each university name.  
  
“Room...six twenty-two,” he muttered, folding the map and stuffing it into his pocket once more. He approached the front desk, where a student was flipping through a magazine and smacking bubble-gum noisily. She pointed him to the direction of the elevator, and a minute or two later Kibum was standing in the office of Professor Kwon, the head of the business department.  
  
“Kim Jonghyun?” Kwon repeated. Kibum nodded. Leaning back in his chair, the professor scratched at his beard before continuing. “Undergraduate student? Black hair, big eyes? Short?”  
  
Kibum blinked, his heart flipping in his chest. He finally did it. “Y-yes, that’s him. Are you one of his professors?”  
  
Kwon huffed. “No, I never was. I was, however, unfortunate enough to have to deal with him after everything that happened, as the head of his department.”  
  
Kibum felt all the blood drain from his body. “W-what happened?”  
  
Kwon narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t you say you’re his cousin? You should be fully aware of the situation.”  
  
 _Shit_. “I-I mean, no one’s been forward with me about what happened so…”  
  
“Well, that’s not my problem,” Kwon scoffed. “But, since you’re here, there may be something you can help with.” He reached one arm lazily downward, pulling open a single drawer. He sifted through it briefly before producing a thin manila file, which he tossed onto his desk and flipped open carelessly. He ran a short, thick finger over the page inside before finding the information he was looking for.  
  
“Room A two thirteen,” he said, not even bothering to raise his head. “He left some stuff in there. If it’s not cleared out by Tuesday we’re throwing it all out.”  
  
Kibum blinked. “H-how am I supposed to get into his room?”  
  
Kwon sighed, throwing the folder back into the drawer and shutting it so forcefully Kibum jumped. “I don’t care. If his roommate’s there, he might let you in. Just clear it out.”  
  
Kibum stood there for a moment, wracking his brain for something to say in response, or perhaps just waiting for the professor to speak up again. But Kwon did not, instead placing his feet squarely on his desk and pulling out his phone to play some game. Discomfort playing across his skin, Kibum excused himself and left Kwon’s office.  
  
His heart felt like it was shrinking, like his veins were closing off one by one.  
  
Kibum turned to face a wall, pressing his forehead against it and sighing. “This must be your good reason, then…damnit.”  
  
He remembered from the map earlier that the male dorms were right across from this building, so Kibum, with a rapidly sinking heart and skin budding with nervous sweat, exited the business department and crossed the small campus to the dorms. His mind was drowning in questions, worry pricking the back of his eyelids and he just hoped to fuck that Jonghyun was okay.  
  
He managed to follow a group of students into the building, who unlocked the door as they entered. The other students kept walking, their loud conversation banging against Kibum’s skull, while Kibum located the elevator and made his way to the second floor. “Two-thirteen, two-thirteen,” he muttered to himself, navigating a few thin, dimly-lit hallways until he found the room he was looking for.  
  
Standing in front of the door, Kibum prepared his story. He had to find out what happened to Jonghyun, and if anyone knew it would be Jonghyun’s roommate, right? The real problem was how to get the story out of him. If he was anything like the professor, it would be practically impossible.  
  
Shock cracked in Kibum’s chest when he door in front of him suddenly swung open. Kibum only barely managed to jump back in time to avoid it.  
  
“Shit, are you okay?” asked a low, gruff voice.  
  
Jonghyun’s roommate was a tall, muscled man, probably two or three years older than Jonghyun himself. He was dressed in a T-shirt and basketball shorts, probably on his way to the gym or something. While at first his features were marked with concern for Kibum’s well-being, his eyebrows soon furrowed with a less pleasant emotion. “Who are you?”  
  
Kibum swallowed thickly. “I’m here to get Jonghyun’s things.”  
  
The roommate leaned against the doorframe, eyes narrowing. “You that fag’s brother or something?”  
  
Kibum’s heart sunk to his stomach, cold flashing over his body. His mind screamed for him to say something, to defend Jonghyun or call his roommate out for saying that word or _something_ , but shock had frozen his muscles in place.  
  
“I threw out his shit already,” he continued. “Couldn’t stand looking at it. It was probably going to infect my room with gay anyway.”  
  
Feeling returned to Kibum’s limbs, his skin crawling and head spinning. “W-what exactly happened with Jonghyun?”  
  
“You don’t know?”  
  
Kibum shook his head. “N-no, my parents won’t tell me.”  
  
The man huffed. “Probably for your own good, but I’m in a giving mood today,” he sighed, crossing one leg behind the other. “A few weeks back, I come in here and he’s on the phone with his parents. Yelling at them, basically. Crying too. Yelling and crying that he doesn’t want to be here and he’s gay and just wants his parents to accept him and bullshit like that. Just wants—” he raised his hands in air quotes, “—‘to be your son.’”  
  
He shifted, leaning his back into the door frame rather than his side. He waved his hands pointlessly, as though suddenly disinterested. “So I go to the office. I sure as fuck don’t want a fag for a roommate, and no one does. It’s not safe for us guys, for someone like that to live with us. So they kicked him out of the dorm. Turns out his parents withdrew his funds from the school, and he sure as fuck couldn’t pay for it anymore. I had to stand right here,” he pointed down at the floor, “in this very spot while he, sobbing his eyes out like some goddamn idiot, packed up his shit. But he did a piss-poor job at even that, left a lot behind.”  
  
The roommate ran a hand through his hair, clicking his tongue. “Most of it was shit, but I probably could have gotten a pretty penny if I’d sold that guitar… but whatever.”  
  
“Do...do you know where he is now?”  
  
Without turning his head, the man looked at Kibum through the corner of his eye. “No, and I couldn’t care less. Can you leave now?”  
  
Kibum stepped to the side, biting down on his lip and making room for the other man to step out, closing the door on his way, and walk down the hallway.  
  
Kibum slumped to the floor. He stared at the door leading to what used to be Jonghyun’s room. Tears pressed at his eyes and he let them fall, slide cooly down his cheeks and from his chin.  
  
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. He knew it was useless, he knew it because he had tried a hundred thousand times before.  
  
Pressing down on Jonghyun’s contact image, he brought the phone carefully to his ear as he drew his knees up to his chest. He lowered his head, hiding his face behind his knees and letting out a loud, wracking sob.  
  
“ _We’re sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service…_ ”  
  
**  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“Taemin,” repeated Jonghyun weakly. “Why are you drawing Taemin?”  
  
“Jonghyun,” Kibum began, shaking his head. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”  
  
Jonghyun turned down to face the canvas, his fingers momentarily tightening around it before he glanced back up at Kibum. “Why?” he asked, the word toothed and unrestrained.  
  
“Jonghyun, I… I paint what I see,” Kibum explained, confusion and… was it fear? Fear rising alongside confusion in his chest and crawling up his throat, blurring his vision around the edges so all he could see clearly was Jonghyun with his wide eyes and mouth half-open.  
  
“But why are you drawing Taemin?” Jonghyun’s voice cracked as he spoke.  
  
Kibum inhaled, his hands curving into fists, nails digging into the heels of his palm. “I just draw what I see, Jonghyun…”  
  
“But why do you see Taemin?” yelled Jonghyun, his chest rising and falling desperately, pathetically, like he was somehow drowning in a room full of oxygen. The sudden volume of his voice momentarily stilled Kibum’s heart until it began to pound once again at twice its normal speed.  
  
Angling his head slightly to the side, lips and chin twitching unwillingly and driving his blunt nails into the flesh of his palms deeper, Kibum managed to sputter, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jonghyun. It’s just what I see…”  
  
Jonghyun was on his feet in the next half-second, eyes burning with anger. “Why. The. Fuck. Did. You. Draw. Taemin.”  
  
He had never heard Jonghyun speak that way before, with words sharpened and deliberate, aimed right for Kibum’s chest. There was nothing in that voice that failed to make the hairs stand on the back of Kibum’s neck, or gooseflesh to rise on his skin or for every cell in his body to scream for him to run away. That was all he wanted to do. But he remained rooted to the spot.  
  
Kibum shook his head rapidly. “I-I don’t know, Jonghyun. It’s just what I see. I have to draw it, Jonghyun, you know that’s the way this works…”  
  
Jonghyun blinked repeatedly, hope surging through Kibum’s veins before being defeated by Jonghyun’s next question. “So he’s here? Taemin is here?”  
  
Kibum nodded, unable to do anything else, his mind losing way to the torrent of emotions rampaging throughout him.  
  
“Where?”  
  
“On the dresser, but Jonghyun…”  
  
Jonghyun had already turned away, twisting expertly on his heel to face the dresser where the figure was sitting, completely oblivious to and unaffected by the two men in front of him.  
  
“Where?”  
  
“Jonghyun, please—”  
  
Jonghyun twisted to face him, so rapidly and with such force it was a wonder his neck did not snap in half. His eyes were burning, the veins in his neck and forehead pulsing. “Goddamnit, _where is he_?”  
  
Kibum swallowed thickly, his throat bone-dry. “Right in front of you.”  
  
Jonghyun almost fell forward, as though his knees could not even support him in that single step forward, making it instead an unbalanced, desperate lurch. He thrust out his left hand, frantic, determined and fearless. “Am I touching him?”  
  
Kibum let out a wracking breath, gaze slowly traveling from Jonghyun’s eyes, down his neck pocked with beads of sweat, along his arm and to his fingers, twitching as they wavered before the figure’s chest. Just an inch shy. The words emerged from Kibum’s mouth without him thinking, “Just a bit more.”  
  
Jonghyun leaned forward, his fingers pressing into the figure’s chest. “What about now? Am I touching him now?”  
  
“You’re touching his chest,” Kibum muttered automatically, watching Jonghyun’s other hand drop the canvas onto the floor and reach up, pausing within the right side of the figure’s chest.  
  
Kibum wasn’t looking but he heard the smile curve around Jonghyun’s words, heard it leak into every syllable that poked a goddamn hole in his own heart. “Taemin…I missed you.”  
  
Jonghyun lowered his left hand, eventually resting it directly inside the figure’s ribcage. “Kibum, is there a stain around here?”  
  
Kibum bit down on his lip, a knot tying in Kibum’s throat that he uselessly tried to resist. “Y-yeah. There is.”  
  
Again, Kibum kept his eyes on the figure, focusing so intensely on where Jonghyun’s knuckles and fingers disappeared into the man’s chest he did not see the smile that widened on Jonghyun’s lips, or the tears that finally spilled from his eyes; but he heard it all, dripping from his words.  
  
“He accidentally spilled wine on me…I got pissed because I liked this shirt so much and I couldn’t wear it anymore. S-so…” Jonghyun stuttered, taking a moment to sniffle forcefully before continuing in a strained voice. “Taemin just took it off me and it became his shirt. He would tease me about how I was a dick for not wearing something because of a little stain or something…so I told him that if he loved this shirt that much shirt I’d have him buried in it.”  
  
Jonghyun chuckled heavily, sniffling loudly once again. “Of course he’d come back to me wearing this…the bastard hasn’t changed at all.”  
  
Kibum stared as Jonghyun’s hands began to shake, wavering inside of the figure’s body. Jonghyun’s first hiccup reverberated through his limbs, and stilled Kibum’s own heart, catching the air in his lungs and turning it into an iron weight. This weight tore his lungs apart, ripped his insides to shreds, sent panic coursing through his veins again as Taemin basked in sunlight that wasn’t there and Jonghyun’s desperate hands groped for his beating heart.  
  
And then, suddenly— _so fucking suddenly_ —Jonghyun’s phone began to ring. Jonghyun’s hands stilled immediately, but he waited for three lines of the song to finally retract them from the figure’s chest. Kibum’s eyes followed Jonghyun’s hands as he dug one into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone, answering the call and silencing that disruptive ringing. He raised the phone to his ear and wiped his tears and runny nose with his free hand. “H-hello. Oh…okay. Yeah, I understand I’ll be there…I’m okay.” He sniffled loudly. “Better than okay.”  
  
Jonghyun hung up, his hands dropping to hang lifelessly at his sides, but Kibum’s eyes remained fixed on Jonghyun’s red and blotched face.  
  
He was staring directly forward, at the base of the figure’s nape.  
  
“I’ll be back, okay?” he whispered, his voice tender and delicate and sending shards of glass into Kibum’s chest. “Wait just a little longer for me, okay?”  
  
His eyes still weren’t focused when he turned to face Kibum, walked right past him into the main room. Instinctively Kibum took a single step back, watching Jonghyun’s back as the other crossed the room, slid on his shoes at the door, gave his cheeks one last wipe, and then headed out the door.  
  
Leaving Kibum alone with a fucking ghost.  
  
**  
 _“Kibum? Kibum, what are_ you doing here?” His mother asked, eyes wide with surprise as she stared at her son, who was standing at the door in the dark. “Are you okay? Come inside, you’ll catch a cold!”  
  
She stepped to the side, allowing Kibum to step into the threshold. His mother shut the door and then immediately turned to her son, clamping her hands around his cheeks. “Kibum, what are you doing home a whole day early?” she muttered. “Did something happen?”  
  
“He’s gone,” Kibum whispered.  
  
“W-who is gone, honey?”  
  
Kibum inhaled sharply. “Jonghyun. Jonghyun is gone and I can’t find him.” His vision began to blur, his mother’s features hazing as the tears gathered in his eyes.  
  
“What do you mean, Kibum?” she asked, her voice lined with concern as she ran her thumbs across his burning cheeks.  
  
“I-I went to Seoul to find him,” he stuttered, not even thinking of the words before they were spilling from his lips. “B-but he’s g-gone. I... I’ll never see him again.”  
  
His mother’s hands moved from his cheeks to his back and she was soon pressing him forward, flush against her. He buried his face in her shoulder, standing with his arms still hanging loosely at his sides as he sobbed into her.  
  
“Honey, I’m so sorry,” his mother offered, rubbing her hands over his back. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
“I love him, Mom,” Kibum moaned. “I love him and I’ll never see him again. I’m in love with Jonghyun but he’s gone and it hurts so much…”  
  
“I know, sweetie,” his mother hummed, rubbing his back comfortingly.  
  
He let out a desperate, cracking cry. “I love him so much…”  
  
“I know you do, Kibum. I know.”  
  
**  
  
Kibum stood, staring blankly at the door for some time after Jonghyun had left. He just stared, and stared and stared as something breathed against the back of his neck, traveling down his back, and wrapped its fingers around his neck and hissed in his ear.  
  
He turned on his heel and stumbled back into the bedroom, practically falling onto the bed as the breathing on his skin vanished along with the fingers. He was left with just snakes crawling in his insides and his throat closing in on itself and his heart just wanting to give up.  
  
He raised his eyes and stared at the figure on his dresser. Kibum wished the figure’s eyes were open, that he could look into them and maybe get some goddamn answers or or or fucking _something_.  
  
“Who the fuck are you?” he said, his voice wavering. His hands curled into fists, blunt nails digging into the heels of his palm. “What the fuck are you doing in my home?”  
  
He bit down on his lip, sparks going off beneath his skin and heat flashing in his mind. “Why are you here? Who the fuck are you?”  
  
The figure, of course, said fucking nothing.  
  
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Kibum asked, his question loud and wavering. “Why the hell are you in my goddamn home?”  
  
Again silence. A silence that Kibum had expected, beyond any shadow of a doubt.  
  
But it was the last goddamn thing Kibum wanted to hear.  
  
He leaped onto his feet, momentum pushing him out the door and into his main room. He practically fell into a chair, and not on part of nausea or dizziness or any of the other symptoms that had been momentarily eased upon properly looking at the figure. He couldn’t think straight he couldn’t even process the beat of his own goddamn heart or the buzzing behind his eyes because there was only one fucking image in his mind now. One image burning into his pupils one image making his hair stand on edge ripping him to pieces from the inside out one image digging into him with savage claws.  
  
Letting out a shaking breath, Kibum raised one quivering hand to his head, propping it up on the table and leaning forward. He took hold of his hair and gave the bleached, damaged strands a violent tug. _Fuckkkk_ how the fuck had he been so damn stupid he wasn’t even sure what had fucking fucking happened.  
  
Jonghyun had said some name like he was born to say it. Like it was tattooed on his skin, like it was the first word he muttered in the morning and the last to fall from his lips at night, like it was the word etched in fucking constellations only he could see.  
  
Jonghyun had looked at fucking _nothing_ , at Kibum’s fucking _wall_ like the goddamn pearly gates had swung open for him.  
  
Jonghyun had forgotten he was there.  
  
The symptoms began then, beginning with scratching at the back of his mind, which then unfolded into teeth and then to the claws of a wolf digging into his brain, seemingly shutting down all but the beating of his heart, undetectable before but now a drum pounding in his throat.  
  
Something pressed his ribs together. No, not pressed, but forced them together, like the two sides were fully-opened doors this thing intended to close.  When he exhaled, they were shut even tighter, squeezing against his heart and lungs, burning them with some unnatural heat.  
  
Kibum made to stand, but his balance was so off he fell back immediately into his chair with his head spinning even worse than it was before.  
  
What the fuck was he supposed to do?  
  
Kibum’s hand as shaking when he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He didn’t know what he was doing until he heard a familiar voice on the other side of the line.  
  
“ _Kibum?_ ”  
  
“J-Jinki,” Kibum breathed. “Jinki.”  
  
“ _Kibum, I’m sorry,_ ” Jinki said, stumbling over his words in a way so unlike his usual articulate and well-planned self. “ _I... I don’t know what—_ ”  
  
Kibum cut off him off. “Jinki, please listen to me before something happens, okay?”  
  
“ _What is going on?_ ”  
  
“I don’t really know either, okay?” Kibum replied, his voice raw. The room was spinning, black patches appearing around the corners of his vision. He leaned forward, at first propping up an elbow and trying to hold up his head with it before realizing that required balance he didn’t have. Eventually, he just leaned his chest and face flush against the paint-stained wood. “There’s something I don’t want to paint and I haven’t even left it for that long but my vision’s fading and I can’t even stand and—” He could feel the tears welling his eyes, his voice beginning to curve and waver.  
  
“ _I’ll be there soon Kibum, okay? I’ll just hang up and—_ ”  
  
“No, don’t hang up.”  
  
Jinki breathed into the receiver. “ _Okay.”_  
  
“Don’t hang up,” Kibum repeated, inhaling shallowly and desperately as a tear streaked down his cheek.  
  
“ _I know, Kibum_.”  
  
He closed his eyes, waiting for the low, dull roar of Jinki’s car starting. The sound, however, never came. As panic rose in Kibum’s chest, deep puffs cracked against his ear. His brows furrowed as the sounds continued, growing lower and lower over the next few minutes.  
  
“A-are you running?”  
  
“ _Yeah_ ,” panted Jinki. “ _There’s too much traffic._ ”  
  
“What the fuck Jinki…”  
  
“ _I said,_ ” Jinki coughed, “ _I said I’d be there for you. Just wait for me. I’m right outside your apartment building._ ”  
  
“Okay,” Kibum muttered, his chest burning like his lungs were on fire and his heart was screeching. A wave of pain crashed over him, making him groan and clutch his stomach desperately. What the fuck was going on…? “The door’s unlocked,” he hissed through clenched teeth.  
  
Jinki didn't respond, his heavy breathing through the receiver the only sign that he was still on the other end. Kibum felt daggers burying themselves to the hilt in the back of his skull, some force wrapping its fingers around his wrists, burning through his skin. A sickeningly warm breath played against the nape of his neck, every hair on his body standing in discomfort.  
  
He did not hear Jinki open the door or rush into his apartment, barely felt his hand against his shoulder. “Kibum! Are you okay?”  
  
“Go to my bedroom,” Kibum said, as loudly as he could possibly muster but in actuality no greater than a whisper, the tears flowing uncontrollably from his eyes. “Get that canvas, and then get me the hell out of here before I do something I’ll regret.” He hiccupped. “I’ll...probably pass out, but don’t worry, alright? J-just get me the fuck away from here.”  
  
“Are you going to be okay, Kibum?” Jinki questioned, his voice choked with worry.  
  
Fuck _okay_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay...so...now is explanation time. I really, really wanted to edit this fic consistently. Really, I did, to the point where I even wrote them a week in advance so that if something did come up I would have a cushion, but just too much happened one right after the other. Shortly after I published chapter 3 (with chapter 4 already written) I developed writer's block, and then became swamped with schoolwork, then got writer's block again. And then I got sick, the nausea-sort of sick so using a screen was hard, and then I got writer's block again, and then I was packing and going home, and I was so jetlagged I couldn't do anything, then it was the holidays, and by the time I finally had time to write I had become so detached from the story I reread and edited the entire thing...yep. so if you go back I've fixed some dumb lines/grammatical errors, nothing story-wise though.
> 
> However, even in the mix of all that shit, I still wrote this chapter, and the next one, and then my friend Naomi, bless her kind soul, told me those chapters were rushed. And she was right. There were a lot of hard scenes I half-assed because I knew they would be difficult to write, so the result wasn't the best and...I didn't want to present you guys with something half-assed, even if it was more timely. So...yeah.
> 
> Now that certain scenes are much more fleshed out, I'm confident that this chapter can stand on its own, hence I am releasing it without the last update, contrary to what I promised earlier on my tumblr.
> 
> I hope this update doesn't let you down, and maybe does something to make up for my long absence...I don't want to make any promises for the next chapter, because this shit is just so hard to write, but thank you guys for not losing hope in me. I hope you all have a wonderful 2016 <3


	6. Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sobs* ....I'm not a hundred percent confident in this but at the same time I haven't been a hundred percent confident in any of the chapters........I think this is the best I can do.
> 
> This is the last full-length chapter, but there will be an epilogue...eventually...

“Kibum, what are you doing?” 

Kibum looked up from his suitcase to find Jinki standing at the threshold to his dorm room. He turned back to folding his clothes. “I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

Kibum threw the clothes he was holding onto the floor. “Why do you think, Jinki? I’m fucking insane. I should be locked up or something.”

“You’re not insane, Kibum.”

Kibum threw his arm back, pointing at the painting propped up on his desk. “Explain that, Jinki, please. Explain why a massive scaled cat appeared in my goddamn bedroom and then disappeared when I painted it. I’m hallucinating, I’m losing my mind and I have to leave.”

“What do you know about Native American myths?”

Jinki’s unexpected question caught Kibum off guard. “What?”

“What do you know about Native American myths?” Jinki repeated, slower this time, as though Kibum’s confusion was a result of miscomprehension rather than bafflement.

“What the fuck are you trying to get at here, Jinki?”

Jinki took a large step into the room and dropped a few sheets of paper directly into Kibum’s suitcase. “This is what I’m trying to get at.”

Kibum’s heart dropped, his fingers quivering as he picked up the papers and sorted through them. They were printouts of artwork ranging from sketches to digital art, and all depicted a massive scaled and horned creature. They were all slightly different, the colors and design of the animal contrasting in the various images, but one thing was clear.

It was definitely the same thing Kibum had just painted.

“W-what is this?” Kibum stuttered, glancing up at Jinki.

“A Mishibizhiw.”

Kibum’s brow furrowed. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“That’s the only way this would make any sense,” Jinki sighed. “If you recognized it, I would let you go. Let you leave school and battle hallucinations until you’re well enough.”

“But I’ve never seen this before,” Kibum replied, his grip tightening around the papers. “Aside from the hallucination.”

“It’s a Mishibizhiw, a mythical beast from America.” He sat down at Kibum’s desk, taking the canvas into his hands and staring down at it as he spoke. “And you painted it, Kibum.”

“What is this supposed to mean?”

“I’ll tell you,” Jinki began triumphantly. “This means you’re not hallucinating. Your brain’s not making up stuff. This means you’re just seeing stuff that must be there, but for some reason no one else can see it.”

Kibum narrowed his eyes at Jinki. “Are you trying to tell me this is some sort of super power?”

Jinki scoffed. “I wouldn’t go that far; it seems like a pretty shitty super power. But this does mean you’re not losing your mind, you just have some weird ability to see stuff like this.”

“So, I’m not crazy?”

“Well, ‘crazy’ is far from the word I would use to describe someone who has hallucinations, but, yeah. You just see stuff that other people can’t see. Doesn’t mean it’s not there, though. The rest of us are just blind for some reason.”

“I’m still basically hallucinating though, Jinki,” Kibum sighed, throwing the papers onto his bed beside the open suitcase.

“What’s your plan then?” Jinki said after a moment’s pause. “Do you want to go home?”

Kibum’s hands curled into a fist. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. “No.”

“Then don’t!” Jinki replied, rising to his feet and walking over to Kibum. “Kibum, I’ll take care of you, okay? If it happens again, I’ll be there. Even if the world comes crashing down, I’m going to be there for you. Keeping your idiot ass on track.”

Kibum scoffed. “You had better not fuck up, then.”

Jinki threw his hands into the air, smiling broadly. “Kibum, you should know I never fuck up.”

**

Before Kibum awoke, as he lingered in sticky unconsciousness, the only thing he could feel—all he could process in his heavy and worn mind—was a dull pain in the back of his hand.

He tried to pull away, retract his hand from whatever was causing this pain, but the grip was too strong for his lethargic state. It was this uncomfortable, persistent pain that finally roused him.

Still, it took some time for his mind to wake completely, for his muscles to liven up enough for him to even open his eyes. When he finally did, his vision was at first so blurred and distorted it seemed as though he were at the bottom of a pool, peering upward at his surroundings.

Before he could dwell on his steadily refocusing vision or the mystery of his current location, the pain increased, earning a hiss from his lips as he turned his head to face whatever it was digging into the flesh of his hand.

Kibum’s eyes snapped shut, a grunt emerging from the back of his throat as the small, sharp whatever pressed deeper into his skin.

It was then that his hand was dropped, falling to the bed with a soft thud as a familiar voice began to whisper fervently. Kibum opened his eyes again, straining to make out what appeared to be two figures hovering over him.

“Kibum, how do you feel?”

Kibum opened his mouth to speak but all words failed him as the veil over his vision rose, revealing Jinki just a few inches from him, one hand pressed flat against Kibum’s shoulder. His face was pale and marked with concern, eyes dark beneath furrowed brows.

Minjung stood beside him at Kibum’s hip, her fingers gripping the blanket so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Her face was painted just the same as Jinki’s. When her gaze met Kibum’s, she reached for his hand once more, cradling it gently as tears spilled from her eyes.

Jinki spoke up once more. “Are you okay, Kibum?”

Kibum swallowed thickly, realizing then how dry and swollen his throat had become. “Can I have some water?”

Jinki squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. “Sure. Wait just a minute.”

He watched Jinki as the other turned to make his way out of the room, running his hand reassuringly over Minjung’s back as he left. He shut the door softly behind him.

Minjung shuffled closer to Kibum, sitting down in a chair by his bedside that he had not noticed earlier. She had not released his hand, instead bending his arm at the elbow so she could still grip him tightly. “Are you okay?” she muttered.

He swallowed again. “Where am I?”

“My apartment. Jinki got your call and just ran out…” she explained, wetting her lips. “That was almost thirteen hours ago.”

And just like that, Kibum’s mind snapped back to life. The memories of what had occurred just hours previous crashed down on him, robbed the air from his lungs and plastered an image to his brain, sewed it into his pupils. Jonghyun’s eyes were locked on the figure sitting on Kibum’s dresser, the man that was invisible to him but still somehow…

No, no, Kibum’s mind screeched. For the love of god don’t don’t don’t think about that don’t.

He pressed against the memory with all his might, haphazardly throwing other images to his eyes in some useless, pathetic attempt to divert his attention away from Jonghyun and how Jonghyun hadn’t seen him and the way Jonghyun—fuck Kibum that’s not what you’re supposed to be doing think that he’s left Jonghyun’s left and you were alone in your apartment and you you—

Fuck.

He had called Jinki. He had fucking went and called Jinki.

“I-I can’t be here,” Kibum muttered.

Minjung blinked. “W-what are you saying?”

Kibum shook his head vigorously, propping himself up on his elbows. Jinki had just gotten away from him after so many goddamn years of taking care of his sorry ass and now? Now fucking this. Kibum had forced Jinki back into his life by practically placing a gun to his own forehead and guilting Jinki into helping him. It was pathetic and inhumane and Jinki did not deserve this. He did not deserve any of this why had Kibum fucking called him why couldn’t he just deal with his own problems like everybody else?

Minjung placed one hand on his opposite shoulder and pushed him softly, trying to coax him to lie down flat again. Alarm spiked through Kibum’s system at the touch.

“Don’t move, Kibum. You need to take it easy.”

He bit down on his lip, holding back the groan forming in his throat because fuck her hand was hot. It was burning his shoulder, and her eyes were burning him too and fuck he shouldn’t even be here. He should not have fucking done this to Jinki what the fuck had he been thinking? What the fucking hell was wrong with him?

He raised his free hand and clawed at her fingers, trying to gain purchase and get her the fuck away from him.

“No, no no,” said Kibum, driving the fingers of his opposite hand, still cradled in Minjung’s own, into the back of her hand until she hissed from pain. But she did not release his hand or his shoulder, holding him firmly in place and biting strongly down on her lower lip. Kibum tightened his grip, his blunt nails now piercing the back of her hand as panic raced in circles around his mind.

Minjung cried out and only a moment later the door swung open, banging against the opposite wall. Kibum was frozen in place, his eyes locked on Minjung, but he could see in his peripherals Jinki entering the room and rushing toward them. He leaned over Minjung, his arm following hers to Kibum’s shoulder, where he curled his fingers around Kibum’s wrist. Jinki’s hands were so fucking cold.

“Kibum,” Jinki breathed. “Kibum, look at me.”

Kibum kept his eyes trained on the door. If he ignored Jinki, he’d go away, right? He would give up on Kibum and let go of him and Minjung would too. He just couldn’t be here. He had to fucking leave. He couldn’t drag Jinki back into his life, not after Jinki had finally been freed from him. He couldn’t bring his sorry ass back into Jinki’s life no nonono Jinki was a good guy he didn’t fucking deserve this he didn’t deserve Kibum stealing the life from him like a goddamn parasite.

“Kibum, tell me what’s going on.”

Kibum turned his head to the side, avoiding Jinki’s gaze. “I don’t want to be here,” he said, his voice shaking and weak and fucking pathetic.

Jinki exhaled, waiting a beat before speaking again. A beat that sent Kibum’s thoughts to race at an even more desperate and exaggerated pace. He didn’t know what was going to happen but he didn’t want to be here and maybe Jinki would do something or say something and Kibum didn’t think he could could could could he just didn’t wan—

“Let me explain, Kibum,” Jinki said finally, in a ginger voice as though the the very air around them would disappear if he spoke above a whisper. “Let me explain, and then if you want to go, you can go. But please, Kibum.” His eyes were on Kibum’s, pupils wavering. “Give me a chance…I want to apologize.”

Kibum squeezed his hand from Minjung’s grip, Jinki releasing his wrist as a result. Kibum, folding his arms over his abdomen and curling his fingers into the flesh of his upper arm, stared down at the covers and tried to ignore the pressure on his chest that lingered even though Minjung had already retracted her hand. He took a deep breath in an attempt to quell the wasps in his brain, injecting terror and discomfort into his system with fervor. He couldn’t listen to them now, couldn’t give into them because he had to listen to Jinki. He just couldn’t do this to Jinki anymore, couldn’t be here and he could listen if it meant he could go.

He did not want to fuck up Jinki’s life anymore so why the fuck had Jinki picked up that phone? Why the fuck wasn’t Jinki running away? Jinki was free from fucked-up Kibum, fucked-up Kibum who couldn’t fucking do anything, fucked-up Kibum who didn’t deserve anyone or anything. Fucking fuck—

“We didn’t think it would become anything, honestly,” began Jinki, without even waiting for Kibum’s reply. “So we weren’t going to tell you. It was casual really, and I just knew you would get upset and say shit that wasn’t true.”

He exhaled loudly, wetting his lips as Kibum wondered what the fucking hell he meant by ‘shit that wasn’t true.’ Jinki’s dropped his head, looking down at his hands. “And then,” he continued, in the same tone as before, “I just woke up one day and it wasn’t casual anymore. I didn’t want it to be.”

Kibum did not want to hear this. There was no cell in his fucking body that wanted to listen to Jinki; all he wanted to do was get out of there. He tightened his grip on his own arms, watching as Jinki again breathed deeply, his chest expanding and then slowly compressing again as he let out a painstaking breath. Kibum did not even understand why he was being so fucking wracked by this whole thing. Why the hell was he reverting back to lying over and over again when Kibum had let him fucking go?

“We talked about telling you a lot,” Jinki muttered, finally lifting his head and meeting Kibum’s gaze until heat flared through his body and Kibum looked away. Shit. “Every day, actually. It was stupid lying to you, demeaning and hurtful and I know that, and I’m sorry. But we didn’t know what else to do. Because we knew that it was too late to just come to you about it, we knew you would misunderstand...but I guess doing that would have been better than what actually happened.”

“Kibum…” It was Minjung now, speaking much softer and more carefully than she normally would. Kibum did not turn to face her. “We were thinking about how to tell you almost all the time.” She paused, churning over her words as though she were walking over glass rather than speaking.

“That’s not like you at all.”

Minjung raised her head at Kibum’s words, which tightened around Kibum’s own heart. They had emerged from his lips thoughtlessly, and brought with them a tidal wave of fear and hatred of his own stupidity in Kibum’s veins.

However, Minjung was not aware of the fresh emotions burning in Kibum’s mind. “I know I usually don’t think before I speak but...I have to think through my apologies. We messed up, Kibum.”

Messed up.

The only part they had messed up on was answering that goddamn phone.

“I want us to go back,” Jinki said, drawing Kibum’s attention back to him. “To how it was before. No secrets between us, no lies. Kibum...I want to be there for you. Like I’ve always been up until now. I want to help you with whatever it is that’s going on now.”

“You can rely on us,” Minjung muttered, picking up where Jinki had left off. “Jinki told me you’ve been struggling with a lot, but we can help you through it.”

Kibum’s grip tightened on his arm. His head snapped up, eyes meeting Jinki’s immediately. “Did you tell her?”

Jinki shook his head. “It’s not for me to tell.”

Kibum turned toward Minjung, whose brows were furrowed in confusion. She blinked at Kibum, opening her mouth to speak before he cut her off. “I see things, Minjung.”

Minjung froze for a moment before she snapped back to life, a reassuring smile growing on her lips. “Kibum, you kno—”

“I see stuff and I have to paint it,” Kibum continued. His words were so alive with energy they felt electric, sparking against his lips as they were unleashed into the air, all his other sensations shutting off one by one as the words spilled from his lips and he watched Minjung’s expression change. “They appear in my apartment or wherever I’ve been spending a lot of time and they wait until I paint them, then they go away. But they want to be painted; they want it so badly they pull me toward them. They make me feel sick, too.

“I see everything. Gods, goddesses, mythical beasts, imaginary friends—they all come to fucking Kibum to make him a little bit crazier.” He turned toward Jinki, whose expression had hardened. His heart skipped a beat at his friend’s grave eyes digging into him, but he could not have stopped the words even if he wanted to. “And now, we can add ghosts to that list too.”

Jinki’s eyes widened, the color draining from his cheeks. Kibum could feel it in the air; the confusion that bubbled in Jinki’s chest and rendered him speechless.

Minjung, however, had paled from something different. In his peripherals Kibum watched her turn toward Jinki, her pupils wavering as she asked him if it was true. If Kibum was telling the truth.

Her voice was godawful; ragged and desperate. Scared beyond all measure. Kibum couldn't really blame her.

Jinki ran his tongue over his lips, then turned toward Minjung. “Yes,” he muttered.

Minjung was quiet for a moment, watching Jinki, perhaps waiting for his mask to crack. For his usual sunshiney smile to grow on his lips and his eyes to crinkle into thin lines; for him to take back his affirmation and joke around. To make it all better because that’s what Jinki did best.

But he didn’t. This time, Jinki did not lie. Kibum watched, a heaviness forming in his chest, as Minjung shrunk to a smaller height. She rose and wobbled slightly as though she had lost any and all sense of balance. “I-I’m gonna make something to eat,” she muttered mindlessly.

Jinki frowned up at her, reaching out a hand to stroke her arm lightly. “I’m sorry, babe,” he whispered. “Let me know if you need anything.”

She nodded numbly and then left, shutting the door behind her. Jinki stayed silent for a few moments and Kibum watched him, flames erupting in his chest as his blood ran warmly and then coolly throughout him. When Jinki finally turned to him, a chill passed over every inch of his skin.

“What did you mean by ghosts?”

Kibum pressed his nails into the flesh of his arms. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “Not to you.” Godfucking damnit, Kibum swore, why the fuck did you bring that up, you goddamn attention whore? 

Jinki sighed. “Kibum, I’m sorry. I’m sorry and I didn’t mean to hurt you like that… how many times do I have to say it?”

“It doesn’t matter how many times you fucking say it,” Kibum exhaled. “It doesn’t matter to you anymore. I don’t even know why I told you.”

“I said I would protect you, Kibum.”

“And I’m saying I don’t want you to,” he hissed in reply.

Jinki raised one hand, pressing it over his eyes and cheeks as he tried to collect himself. “You’re not as doomed as you think you are. You’re not some burden on me and you’ve never been.”

He paused and his words dig into Kibum’s mind like hooks. Jinki and his fucking lies.

“Why did you ever trust me, Kibum?” Jinki asked, cracking the silence forming around them. “What let you rely on me before?”

The words fall from Kibum’s lips effortlessly. He knew the goddamn answer. Knew it in every fiber of his being, knew it because it had been scratched onto the back of his eyelids for so many years, had clawed at the inside of his mind and heart until those scars became so deep they would never ever heal.

“Because I had no other choice.”

Jinki breathed. Their eyes met.

“And do you have a choice now?”

Jinki’s question made the weight in Kibum’s chest grow heavier, the pressure on his sinuses increase and his throat clamp up. His heart compressed and all his screaming thoughts fell silent and the image of fucking Jonghyun holding that canvas, staring at a fucking wall, tattooed itself once more on his eyes. Fuck.

Kibum shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

Jinki’s voice is soft. “And the ghost?”

Kibum hesitated, holding his breath as he tried to focus on the pain in his arms that had by then grown so minute he had forgotten about it. He was such a goddamn idiot, couldn’t even do anything right. Couldn’t even deal with his own problems. Couldn’t even be loved by one goddamn person.

He let out a strangled breath. “It’s the guy Jonghyun’s in love with.”

**

Jinki was sitting at the foot of the bed, his eyes focused on the screen in front of him as the clatter of his fingers on the keyboard echoed through the small bedroom. Minjung was in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup. Jinki had walked out for a bit after Kibum had fully explained the situation, which had taken a while on account of his emotions, like a goddamn hormonal teenager.

Jinki had returned with his laptop and the canvas. He had not asked Kibum if he wanted the help, had not asked him if he still wanted to leave.

Kibum needed him now whether he liked it or not, and Jinki understood that.

Kibum watched as Jinki, his clacking ceasing, turned to the canvas on the bed beside his laptop. He studied it briefly before facing the screen once more. His typing resumed.

Kibum leaned back into the pillows. He was calmer now, sure, but every inch of him alternated between bloodlessness and an unbearable heat. This was fucking wrong and he didn’t want to be here.

He did know, however, that if anyone was going to find Taemin, sort through years worth of obituaries for a man of whom they only knew the first name, it would be Jinki.

Kibum didn’t even know why the hell Jinki was searching for him, why his name or life story even fucking mattered. The only things that mattered were that Taemin was sitting in Kibum’s bedroom and Jonghyun still loved him.

Kibum’s attention was caught by a loud, almost exasperated exhale. Kibum raised his eyes, his gaze immediately meeting Jinki’s and sending a shiver down his spine. The atmosphere was tense, Jinki’s stare hard and unwavering. Jinki ran his tongue over his lips, preparing himself as Kibum’s fingers tightened around the blanket.

“I’ve found him.”

Kibum bit down on his lip, nodding his head mechanically as his heart fell down to his stomach. He wasn’t dumb, but there had been a part of him that was. A part of him that had hoped beyond all rationality that it wasn’t true, that the reality he should have already accepted was just a lie. That he was dreaming, perhaps, and he would wake to find everything back to normal. To find Jonghyun next to him, in his arms, and loving Kibum and only Kibum like he was supposed to.

Jinki waited, the seconds weighing profoundly on the two of them as he gave Kibum the opportunity to speak up. To ask for a moment to collect his thoughts, to encourage Jinki forward. But Kibum kept silent.

He watched Jinki steel himself, straightening his back and nodding his head as his eyes refocused on the screen. “There’s a picture,” he said finally.

Kibum crossed his arms, pressing them so tightly against his own chest he could feel his erratic and frenzied heartbeat pulse in his wrists. He grabbed his forearms, winding his fingers firmly against the flesh and twisting the skin. He opened his mouth in a silent cry of pain, his mind stuck, like an idiot on a treadmill, replaying over and over again the look Jonghyun had given him. Jonghyun, on his knees and clutching a canvas.

Jinki cleared his throat. “His name was Lee Taemin. He worked at a dance studio in Dongdaemun. He was twenty-seven when he died three years ago. Killed by a drunk driver while walking to the bus station after closing up one night.”

Kibum’s grip loosened, his every bodily function failing for a moment as Jinki’s words reached his ears. As they sneaked into his mind—pressed past the stupid part of him, and the part of him that wanted everything to work out okay, and the part of him that needed Jonghyun—and settled poisonously at the forefront of his thought. Kibum felt his heart freeze over.

“Oh,” he breathed, an exhale of all his hope.

Jinki stared down at his keyboard, chewing at his lip. “Yeah,” he muttered, barely audible. He raised one hand, gesturing back and forth in the air in what was clearly an attempt to gather his thoughts properly enough to speak. “It’s definitely him, too. I mean… Jonghyun’s—er. The guy Jon… shit.”

His hand dropped, thumping softly against his thighs. He closed his eyes and inhaled, waiting a few beats before exhaling. Kibum could practically hear the air rushing into and then out of his lungs, so loud and unsettling it cut through the panic of his own heartbeat and the bile rising in his throat.

When Jinki opened his eyes again, he stared back down at the screen, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. “The picture. It’s not the best, probably taken with a phone camera. His features can’t be made out too well.”

“Then how do you know it’s him?”

Kibum asked this question without even thinking. He knew the answer did not matter. He knew he was just a goddamn idiot and fuck. Just fuck.

Jinki raised his head, his gaze meeting Kibum’s. His eyes were soft, down-turned and concerned, jaw lax as he exhaled once again. Kibum could see the words connecting and disconnecting in his mind, sentences and clauses welding together and then snapping apart. Kibum’s mind replayed Jonghyun speaking with abandon; every word spiked and direct and searching as he held the canvas like death was facing him and Kibum was the reason why.

“The photo…” began Jinki gingerly. “It was taken by a Kim Jonghyun.”

“Oh.”

The syllable crawled from Kibum’s mouth strenuously, his lips aching as they curved around that one sound. He felt it, the air pushing its way up his throat and the vibration of his vocal cords. The sound pushed against the inside of his lips, rattled his teeth, and then fell dead in his lap. It had no purpose, no meaning; it was only the dying breath of Kibum’s crumbling mind.

Jonghyun was on his knees, holding the canvas. He was saying Taemin’s name and Jonghyun did not love Kibum, and Jonghyun was reaching out for Taemin and he did not love Kibum, and Jonghyun was crying from joy and he did not love Kibum.

“Do you want to see it?”

It was a miracle that Kibum had been able to hear his voice, even moreso that JInki’s words had been comprehensible. They broke through the blackness swarming Kibum’s mind and the thoughts drilling holes into his brain.

“Why would I want to?”

Jinki hesitated before responding. “I don’t know.”

There was another pause before Jinki spoke again.

“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do, Kibum.”

**

“Kibum, are you doing okay? Do you need me to get you anything?”

Kibum shook his head, staring down at his hands, lying uselessly in his lap. He was seated on the edge of his bed and Jinki was kneeling in front of him in the semi-darkness of Kibum’s new apartment, lit only by the city lights streaming in through the window on the opposite wall. 

“Are you sure this is what you really want, Kibum?” Jinki asked in a soft voice.

“I don’t have any other choice,” Kibum muttered.

Kibum felt Jinki’s hand rest on his knee, squeezing it gingerly. “Yes you do, Kibum.”

Kibum did not reply, instead biting down on his lip as his thoughts stung the inside of his brain like wasps. Of course Jinki didn’t know, didn’t fucking understand. Unlike Kibum, he could lie. He could lie about all sorts of things. 

After all, Jinki wasn’t living in Kibum’s head. He wasn’t seeing these things, wasn’t feeling every centimeter of his skin palpitate and shiver when one appeared. He didn’t understand that Kibum’s insides turned inside out whenever he left one alone for too long.

Jinki didn’t know that people stared at him. All the time now, even when Kibum wasn’t painting. Their eyes locked onto his form as he rushed to class in the morning, dug into the back of his neck as he checked out books at the library, met his when he found himself bored and glancing about the classroom, only for the fellow student to turn away and resume note-taking with an intense speed.

Jinki didn’t know that they talked about him. In the library just three weeks ago a couple had come in, met his eye briefly and then sat down at the table beside his and whispered to each other, giggling frequently. He had headphones in but had turned off his music, ears straining to pick up their every word because they were fucking talking about him. They had to be. They had come here to see the freak, the guy the whole campus was talking about; the guy losing his mind and painting whatever goddamn sick shit he hallucinated up. He had sat there as his every limb began to twitch nervously with an uncontrollable energy until he had snapped, pushing himself up loudly from his chair and walking off.

He had thrown up in the bathroom later because he was gross and weird and strange and even though he did not recognize those students they had known it was him; that he was the source of all the rumors. They had probably been able to smell it on him, or see it in his blood-shot eyes, or his disgusting purplish pallor.

And that happened so many more times. So many more people sat near him, so many people looked at him and stood by him. They all knew who he was. And he wore his headphones but without any sound pumping into his ear, instead trying to hear the words of these gawkers that had come to observe the man who was losing himself to insanity, visibly cracking further and further with each second.

When Kibum could hear their conversations, he realized they had been careful in their scheming to get close to him and remain undiscovered. They had nicknames for him, phrases to describe entire plans of action depending on Kibum’s actions. They thought they were clever, but he knew. He always knew and he always felt them watching him and sneering and holding back laughter because there wasn’t anything goddamn funnier than watching someone else crumble.

And that when he knew he had to fucking go. He had to get the hell out of that school because he just couldn’t fucking take it anymore.

“Kibum?” said Jinki, bringing Kibum back into reality, although he could still hear the laughter of the students scratching at his eardrums. “Do you want me to order you something to eat?”

Kibum shook his head, keeping his head lowered and eyes on his lap.

“When did you last eat?”

Kibum remained silent, the laughter rattling his skull.

Sighing, Jinki removed his hand from Kibum’s knee. “Kibum, when did you last eat?”

Kibum shrugged, something coiling in his stomach. Why should it fucking matter?

“I’ll order us something, okay?” continued Jinki, having abandoned any thought of receiving an answer to his question. “I’ll order something and, once you get some food in you, we can talk. There’s a better solution than you living in this place all on your own…we can probably re-enroll you, since you were a good student and all I’m sure your professors will take you back with no complai—”

“I’m not going back,” muttered Kibum. 

“Kibum, you know—”

“I said no! Fucking no!” yelled Kibum, raising one hand and using it to grip his forearm, digging his nails into the flesh of his arm.

“Alright, alright,” said Jinki, softly, smoothly. “Let’s just get some food in you, okay?”

Kibum did not respond, focusing instead on the pain growing in his arm. A pain that only he could feel, that could tear away the thoughts rampaging and roaring in his mind.

“Hello, yes I’d like to place an order…,” said Jinki casually into his phone. Kibum did not raise his head, did not have to in order to know that, despite the cordial tone of his voice, Jinki’s expression would be hard and his eyes would lock onto Kibum’s and send needles into every nerve in his body.

Why the fuck did you have to bring Jinki into this? What you really should have done is locked yourself properly away; but you’re such a piece of shit-freak you couldn’t even do that, could you? You’re too weak to even buy an apartment for yourself! Fucking piece of shit.

Kibum drove his nails deeper into his flesh until he had to bite down on his lip to keep from gasping from the pain. That’s right, you fucking piece of shit. You had to bring Jinki down with you, you pathetic fuck.

Kibum had not heard Jinki give the address, was not even aware he had hung up the phone until suddenly Jinki’s hands were on both of his wrists, wrenching them apart with a low grunt. He directed his attention to Kibum’s injured forearm, turning it in his hand to examine the bright red marks and tiny droplets of blood that formed in the crescent cuts.

He swore under his breath, looking up at Kibum with a furrowed brow before noticing Kibum’s face contorted in pain once more. In a split second his gaze flitted downward and he let out another curse as he reached for Kibum’s other hand, which was pressing its nails into his thighs now through his pants. You fucking piece of shit all you deserve to fucking do is be in pain. Why the fuck can’t you do anything right? Can’t even function in public, can’t live on your own, what the fuck can you even do? It’s a wonder you’re goddamn breathing right now but maybe you should just stop

Jinki spoke rapidly; his words would have been a rushed and panicked blur to any outsider. But, to Kibum, they sounded distant, muffled as though the air around them had turned dense and solidified. Kibum could scarcely hear them, much less process them in the unending torrent of wrecked emotions and thoughts his mind had become. Poetic, sort of, his mind just as much a fucking mess as his sorry excuse for a life.

He did, however, manage to make out one of Jinki’s words. One word that smashed the barrier between them like a sledgehammer to glass.

Stop

Kibum’s eyes widened, and he looked down to meet Jinki’s gaze for the first time in what felt like hours, years, centuries.

“Stop,” he repeated.

Jinki’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, Kibum. You can’t do this to yourself! It’s not fair at all. You’re just sick, that’s all. There’s no reason for you to give up on everything when you can just get better. I mean, your visions, no matter why you have them or what they are, can be fixed with therapy or drugs or training… we can get over this, Kibum. We can make this stop.”

A beat.

“I should just stop.”

“N-no, Kibum! No not at all! You shouldn’t do that… I-I know it might be hard but Kibum…Kibum, you can’t…”

Jinki was usually so articulate, so clear-headed. Had the circumstance been different, Kibum would have surely teased his desperate scramble for words and incomplete sentences.

“It would be so much easier, Jinki…,” Kibum muttered, the thought of some sort of end to all of this sending a sort of sweetness through his bloodstream. 

“But you don’t really want to die, right, Kibum?”

Kibum thought for a minute. “More than I want to die, I just don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be this anymore.”

“Kibum… We can get through this,” Jinki muttered, his grip tight on Kibum’s wrists. His hands were sweaty too, to match his reddening face. “We’ll get you back to the old Kibum, okay? I know this must be hard, but we’ll get everything back to normal again.”

Kibum swallowed, feeling a knot that had taken residence in his throat without him even noticing. “But what if we can’t?”

Jinki’s grip tightened on Kibum’s wrists. “We can. And we will. No one will even have to know about this, okay? We’ll figure it out and then, when, you’re better, you can just resume your life like normal again and no one will have to know.”

“But what if I’m stuck like this now? What if this is me now?” Kibum asked, his voice wavering as he stared down at Jinki, watching the other struggle for words while Kibum’s own flowed from his lips in a torrent of pent-up emotions. “Jinki why can’t I just…wouldn’t it be easier to make this stop now?”

“No no no,” Jinki replied, shaking his head. “No no no. Kibum, we’re going to get through this, okay? I’m going to stay with you. We’re going to make this better, okay? Okay?” He bit down on his lip, trembling with every inhale and exhale through his nose. “We’re going to get you back to normal.”

Kibum inhaled, the breath accompanied by a high-pitched whine. Maybe Jinki was right. Maybe Kibum wasn’t fucked up forever maybe he could go back to normal someday.

But that didn’t change the fact that he was fucked up now, that his life was goddamn ruined and fuck. Fuck. His parents didn’t need a crazy son.

“G-give me my phone….,” Kibum muttered, gesturing with his head toward the small nightstand, where his phone was resting.

Jinki hesitated, eyes flicking down to where his hands were still gripping tightly onto Kibum’s wrists.

“I won’t do anything,” whispered Kibum. “I promise. Just get me my phone.”

Jinki wavered for a moment, caught between trusting his friend and his concern for Kibum’s safety, but eventually he gingerly rested Kibum’s uninjured wrist onto his thigh. He watched Kibum’s hands for moment, his grip tightening just slightly on Kibum’s opposite hand, before he finally reached for the phone. Almost falling on his side as a result of the stretch, it took Jinki more than just a couple seconds to take the phone into his hands, seconds during which Kibum’s mind hissed fucking do it fucking stick your nails back in bleed more fucking bleed you insane piece of shit.

Even when Jinki had pressed the phone into Kibum’s palm, the thoughts continued. Digging into the corners of his mind as something burned against the back of his eyelids and fucking shit—

“What are you doing?” Jinki asked softly, after watching Kibum struggle with his phone, trying to navigate it despite his blurring vision and the tears collecting in his eyes that he couldn’t wipe away.

Kibum hiccupped, entering the messaging app and deleting those from both of his parents (which had doubled in number over the past three weeks when he had realized there was no way in hell they couldn’t fucking feel the crazy spilling from him even through his texts). Then, he went to his contacts, swiping left and deleting every single one, watching the names of people who would probably only say his name when exchanging creepy stories over shots of soju, disappear.

His parents though, he blocked. When…when he was better…

Kibum sniffled. “I’m not doing anything, Jinki.”

Jinki smiled sadly. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll get you back to normal, Kibum. I promise.”

**

Kibum spent two hours staring. At the ceiling, at the wall, at Jinki, who sometimes stared back.

He stared at the picture of Taemin, too.

Just as Jinki said, it wasn’t anything spectacular, really. It was blurry not only because of the poor camera but because Taemin had been moving when the picture was taken. Dancing, more specifically. Strands of black, straight hair were falling over his eyes mid-movement, his hands blurred and misshapen. There was little of Taemin’s features that came out properly enough to separate him from any other lean, young Korean.

In fact, the only noticeable thing was the small, almost imperceptible smile on Taemin’s face.

The kind of smile Kibum only noticed after staring for way too fucking long.

The kind of smile that would make Jonghyun pick this blurry, low-quality shot over anything else for his boyfriend’s obituary.

Kibum didn’t realize tears had begun to flow from his eyes until something tapped his shoulder, and he turned to see Minjung prodding him with a box of tissues.

“Hi,” she said tenderly.

Kibum sniffled. “Hi.”

Minjung lowered the box onto the side of the bed, pulled out a single tissue and pressed it gingerly to Kibum’s cheeks. “I can clean up on my own, you know. It is my face, after all,” he said lowly.

Minjung huffed, her voice lined with her classic humor. “In the sorry state you’re in?”

Chuckling, Kibum reached for the box, grabbing a tissue himself and reaching for the side of his face opposite Minjung’s helpful fingers. Minjung clicked her tongue disapprovingly, raising her hand to Kibum’s chin and angling his head to wipe his cheeks before he had a chance. “Hey,” he protested with a laugh, throwing his unused tissue at Minjung’s chest.

She laughed, carefully dabbing along the underside of Kibum’s eyes for a few moments before lowering her hands. “There, you look much better now.”

Kibum pointed to Minjung’s thigh, where the tissue he had thrown earlier landed. “I think I might need that back, though. To blow my nose,” he added, sniffling loudly for effect.

Minjung giggled and handed him the tissue. It took him that one and a few more before he was able to properly breathe. Minjung was piling up the used tissues on the nightstand; a little gross, honestly, but it seemed to amuse her.

“Do you want something to eat?” she asked, turning toward Kibum with a sweet smile. “I made seaweed soup.”

There was no way in hell Kibum could eat anything right now. “Maybe later,” he replied, as kindly as he could.

“Later, then,” she repeated, patting his thigh comfortingly. “But you have to eat it soon. And all of it!”

Kibum huffed. “You seem back to your normal self.”

“I’m not going to lie, you did throw me for a loop earlier,” Minjung sighed, shaking her head.

“Sorry about that…”

Minjung flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” Her face then fell, eyes lowering to her hands resting casually on Kibum’s thighs. “Jinki…told me about Jonghyun and Taemin….”

Kibum lowered his head, staring down at his lap and bobbing his head slightly. “Well,” he exhaled. He raised his head and faced Minjung. “What do you think I should do? Because Jinki is just as useless as ever.”

Minjung snorted. “I swear to god the only thing he’s good at is killing spiders for me.”

“I knew he’d be shit at sex,” said Kibum, clicking his tongue and shaking his head as Minjung laughed. He turned to face Jinki, who was still seated at the edge of the bed and looking back at Kibum with wide eyes. “Jinki, how many times do I have to tell you where the clitoris is?”

“Kibum, Jesus Christ…” moaned Jinki in disapproval, the sound only spurring on Kibum.

“The key to pleasing a woman, Jinki, is very simple.” Kibum raised one hand to his lips in a V-shape, resting his tongue on the top of his lower teeth and poking it out between his fingers. A smile threatened his lips as Minjung’s laughed unashamedly.

“You’re a piece of shit, Kim Kibum,” sighed Jinki over his girlfriend.

Kibum shrugged. “You missed me though, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, of course I did,” Jinki said, rather matter-of-fact.

At this point Minjung had collected herself well enough, her roars of laughter reduced to a few misplaced chuckles. “Ah, Kibum…”

Kibum faced her, watching Minjung as she tenderly dabbed her eyes with a tissue before throwing it back onto the pile, a smile still painted onto her lips. Laughing like this, her cheeks pressed against her eyes, the skin crinkling at the corner of her eyes… It reminded him of Jonghyun.

“Minjung…”

“Hm?” she responded. Her eyes, still shining with laughter, met Kibum’s.

He chewed at the inside of his cheek. “What do you think I should do?”

It took her a moment to comprehend what Kibum was asking. But once she did, realization crossed her face, wiping the rosiness of extended laughter from her cheeks. S he pursed her lips together and glanced toward Jinki. Kibum did not turn away from her, did not see whatever gesture or facial expression Jinki made to ease the words from her lips.

“You mean about Jonghyun?”

Kibum nodded, his fingers curling around the covers.

Minjung did not even hesitate before she spoke.

“You have to finish that painting, Kibum.”

Kibum’s insides twisted, knotting together and condensing into an insurmountable weight in his abdomen, a pressure that spread up to his chest and then his neck. The blood ceased flowing, collecting in his head and about his mouth and at the curves of his arm. His jaw fell open, lips twitching to say the words threatening to burst from his mind that he couldn’t give shape too.

He inhaled deeply, the oxygen cutting his throat and lungs and pushing those words from his lips with a worn, bruised exhale.

“But Jonghyun is in love with Taemin.”

Minjung bit down on her lip. Kibum felt Jonghyun’s eyes burning into him again, the air drenched in confusion and desperation, Jonghyun’s hands white against the canvas, Jonghyu’ns voice piercing holes into his chest.

Why are you drawing Taemin?

“Taemin is dead, Kibum.”

**

Hours later, at four in the morning, Kibum finally gave up on sleep, his mind overactive and thoughts insatiable. He poked a curious toe out of the covers, resting it carefully on the wood floor before pushing his weight off his back and onto his feet.

He had never been inside Minjung’s apartment before, for obvious reasons, but he did not have to explore much before he found just the place he wanted to be; as he opened the door leading outside the spare bedroom, he immediately spotted a window taller than he was in Minjung’s cramped living room. It was a bit of a task for Kibum to make his way to the window, the small room disorganized and overflowing with mismatched pieces of furniture, able to seat more people than had probably ever been in this small space at once. Perhaps Minjung thought of abandoned furniture like puppies left out in the rain.

After winding his way past the furniture as though navigating a maze, Kibum stood before the window. He pushed a chestnut ottoman away, allowing adequate room for him stare out at the city, its lights flashing orange and red and blue like eyes that would follow him anywhere.

Seoul was a city that never slept, a city that roared and buzzed with life even when most of its inhabitants might kill for just a minute of silence. It was too easy for Kibum to distract himself with this scenery, his eyes first landing on a neon sign for a club where others his age were probably now dancing, oozing life and youth. Then his attention was caught by a taxi whizzing through traffic, and Kibum was sure that if Minjung’s apartment were just a few levels closer to the street, he could have heard it’s incessant, bellowing horn even after it had turned a corner and was out of sight.

Almost unwillingly, his eyes settled on the worn letters above the café across the street where he and Jinki used to frequent, where Minjung worked. Any ease the temporary distraction of the bright city had poured into his veins dried up as his eyes moved to his apartment building, just next door to the café.

Kibum lived on the seventh floor, so he counted the horizontal rows of windows. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…

He pressed his palm to the glass, leaning his forehead against its cool surface and letting out a sigh. He saw, at the border of his vision, the small circle of condensation that formed from his breath. Pushing himself from the window, he stared down at the imprint of his breath, then lifted his little finger and wrote on the glass: “Taemin.”

Kibum raised his eyes, focusing his vision back on his apartment building. “Oh fuck,” he muttered. “I’m such a piece of shit, aren’t I? Why the hell did I even do that?”

He stared down at the name and something clicked in his mind. Something was pushed into place, sending sparks through his veins. The blood quickened, sending warmth and electricity rhoughtout him until Kibum was practically buzzing, energy bursting on his tongue.

He leaned his head back on the glass, this time at an angle so he could properly see the name that was lost and wouldn’t ever be coming back.

He took a deep breath and said the words that had formed and poked pleadingly at his tongue. His voice was low but clear, wavering just slightly with the uncertainty and fear that he was, somehow, overcoming. “I’ve…I’ve got no right to do this. I’m the new boyfriend, after all? Maybe you’d rather slam my head into the street than talk to me, but I have to try.

“I don’t believe in ghosts, even though you’re sitting on my dresser and you’re clearly…,” he swallowed thickly, cocking his head the side slightly. “Dead, to put it simply. You’re dead, Taemin.”

Kibum exhaled heavily, closing his eyes and mulling over his words, wanting every single one to sound polished and thought-out but knowing it probably came across as just the opposite, because it was. Because even as he thought through his sentences, messy and thoughtless words fell from his lips. “And I don’t know anything about you, aside from your name, your face, and, well, how you died. A drunk driver, huh? There are worse ways to go but…sorry, sorry, I’m a dick.

“I’m sure you’re not upset about it anymore…or maybe you are. Maybe the dead are bitter too. I don’t know, but I’m just spit-balling here, so you’ll have to forgive me.” Kibum clicked his tongue, raising a hand to scratch absent-mindedly at his jawline. “I just think that I need to talk to you, you know? I mean, it seems like you and Jonghyun are the most important players right now but Jinki won’t let me call him.” He raised his head, peering back at that seventh floor. “He wouldn’t answer me though, would he? He seemed to basically lose any and all interest in me once he saw you.

“I can’t blame him though, I guess. He must have loved you a lot. More than a lot.” He paused, allowing himself a moment to feel nothing but the rise and fall of his chest. He watched a tear-like drop cut its way from the first character in Taemin’s name, down through the cloudy circle and to the floor. “Jonghyun is an all-or-nothing kind of guy, I don’t think he’d be with anyone if he wasn’t going to love them until the world crumbles.” Kibum let out a soft chuckle. “I guess I might be the exception now, but...he’s still Jonghyun.”

“I don’t really know why I’m doing this,” Kibum admitted in a single breath. “Even if you can hear me, it’s not like you can respond or that I even have any questions I really need the answer to but…Would it be okay for me to ask them anyway?”

Silence answered him, coiling around his form and sending a shiver down his spine.

“Um, well… What was Jonghyun like back then? I knew him before you met him, but he’s different now. And was he always so clingy? I swear to god it’s like the second we’re in the same room he has to be holding my hand or sitting on my lap or lying on my chest or something.

“Are all of his songs about you? I know that some of them have to be, of course. And did he sing for you? I feel like Jonghyun…like Jonghyun couldn’t live if he wasn’t singing, you know?” Kibum pressed both of his hands to the window again. “When we were kids, he said music was all he had. Do you think that’s still true?”

He let out a heavy exhale. “Sorry, sorry, Taemin. I doubt you have any interest in talking to me or anything or…I don’t even know. I don’t even know and I sure as fuck wish I did. I wish I knew why I wanted to talk to you or what the hell I’m even supposed to say.”

Silence again. Kibum gathered his strength with a determined inhale.

“Maybe I should just let you know that I’m going to paint you. I don’t really know what that means for you, but I’m going to do it. In a few hours, actually. So...if it hurts or something, I guess I’m sorry. I just don’t have much of a choice. I’m not a hundred percent sure of anything, really, but Jinki thinks that if I don’t paint I might die or something. But…I just want to do it for Jonghyun.”

Kibum looked down at the name again, now almost illegible from the droplets cutting through the condensation, splitting apart the characters with wavering vertical lines. “Anyway, I think I’ve said my piece now, Taemin. I’m going to paint you, because Jonghyun…fuck. He won’t be able to live with you sitting on my dresser. He acted like you were going to pop out and sweep him up into you arms.”

Kibum felt that familiar pressure on his sinuses, but he wasn’t going to cry. Not now. Later. Later.

“He misses you, obviously. And he still loves you, too. But you’re dead, Taemin, and I love him and I’m not going to let him waste away waiting for you to come back. Because you’re not.”

Kibum stepped away from the glass, raising his hand and swiping the pads of his fingers over Taemin’s name.

“We both love him too much to let that happen, right?”

**

Kibum got about three hours of rather tortured sleep. He awoke groggily, as though his mind were swimming in tar. He straightened on the bed, sitting up and trying to ignore the twisting in his stomach.

As though on cue, the slight squeak of a door opening reached his ears. He listened carefully to the soft patter of feet, then Minjung and Jinki’s hushed words as they shuffled around the small kitchenette, any pauses in their conversation filled by the pop of the refrigerator door opening and closing or the steady drips of the coffee machine.

Kibum slid off the bed and onto his feet, treading carefully toward the door. His shoulders tensed, discomfort and uncertainty pricking the base of his neck. He regained some sense of calm when he raised his right hand and squeezed his opposite forearm, digging his nails into the flesh. Taking a deep breath, he turned the doorknob with his left hand and made his way into the main room.

“Oh, you’re up early.” Observed Jinki from the kitchenette. Kibum turned to him and his stomach flipped, the smell of the sausages Jinki was frying so offensive he felt all the blood drain from his body. Jinki must have noticed, as he turned on his heel to search through the cabinet behind him for a lid, which he quickly popped back onto the pan. All the while Minjung watched silently from the coffee machine, eyes flitting back and forth between Kibum, Jinki, and the sausages.

Jinki, however, was back in his stride. “Do you want something to eat, Kibum?”

Kibum shook his head.

“Let me change the question: what can you eat, Kibum?”

Kibum rang his tongue over his lips, twisting the skin of his forearm. It was nearing twenty hours since he last ate, and he felt as though his stomach had shrunk to a forth its size. “Nothing, honestly,” he muttered.

Jinki turned to Minjung, still at her post at the coffee machine. “Minjung, can you get the soup from yesterday out from the fridge?”

“Sure,” said Minjung, feigning her usual cheeriness as she turned to the fridge. “Have a seat, Kibum.”

They sat on her couch, Minjung and Jinki snacking on sausages and eggs with rice while Kibum struggled with each spoonful of spinach soup. He was grateful, at least, that Minjung had not heated it up before serving. Hot, it would have probably burned him from the inside out. Their meal was silent, Kibum’s chest tightening when his mind inevitably wandered to the unfinished painting waiting in the other room.

And Jonghyun was on his mind too. Jonghyun clamped down on his throat, tore apart his lungs, drove hooks into his goddamn heart with those familiar hands of his—those hands Kibum knew every centimeter of. Hands he had been held by and caressed by and missed.

He felt like he was rotting from inside out, growing emptier and emptier as their meal finished. He watched Jnki and Minjung gather up their plates and silverware, Kibum’s too, and pile them up in the sink. “Do you want to go paint now, Kibum?”

He looked up at Jinki, standing in the small kitchenette and looking at him with sad eyes.

Kibum nodded, pushing himself to his feet. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Jinki. I’m going to get Taemin from the bedroom then let’s go.”

Jinki bit at his lip. “Alright.”

Making his way into the spare bedroom, Kibum’s eyes were immediately directed to the canvas. Waiting for him on the small table near the foot of the bed. He took it in his hands, running a thumb absentmindedly over the even surface. “Let’s do this, Taemin,” he muttered.

Jinki drove them to Kibum’s apartment, only a few blocks down. Minjung sat shotgun, staring out the window at the city and occasionally peering back at Kibum. His eyes were trained on the canvas, lying on his thighs, but he could feel the warmth of Minjung’s gaze when it settled on him.

Taemin wasn’t looking at him, his head still tossed back and eyes closed, angelic and peaceful. Somehow. Somehow.

Kibum ran his thumb over the canvas once more and wondered if all in death was peaceful, or maybe Taemin was feeling needles pricking his veins and skin too, if his stomach was knotting and twisting like a snake trying to make a meal of its own tail.

He climbed the stairs to his apartment clutching Taemin to him, wondering if he could feel how Kibum’s heart was attempting to break free of his own chest. Minjung was a step behind, keeping a hand squarely on his back. As though he might fall and shatter into a thousand pieces with a single misstep. Which might have been true.

Kibum chuckled when Jinki opened the door leading to his apartment. Jinki turned back to him, brows furrowed. “You’re the one always telling me to lock it yet you forgot to yesterday,” he said, voice lined with just a tinge of pride.

Jinki scoffed. “I had more important things to worry about then a door, you should know.” He pulled off his shoes at Kibum’s threshold and stepped into the apartment itself so Minjung and Kibum could do the same. “Are you doing okay, Kibum?”

Shrugging, Kibum replied, “I feel like shit but I think I have every reason to feel that way, don’t you?”

“I mean with the painting.”

“Oh, well yeah I feel fine about that,” said Kibum. “It won’t hit me until I actually see him. Probably. I dunno this has only happened once before…leaving a painting and all.”

Minjung spoke up. “What should we do?”

Kibum held the canvas closer to his chest. “We should get my stuff now. Brushes, paints, all that stuff. Once I see him, I’ll probably lose conscious. Kind of. Sort of. I dunno; it’s hard to explain.”

“Let’s get your stuff ready, then,” said Jinki, looking back toward Minjung and then nodding toward the mess in the center of the room: the canvases and paints littering not only the large table in Kibum’s apartment but also the floor.

Minjung found a plastic shopping bag and began to throw various tubes of paint inside of it as per Kibum’s instructions. Black and gray for Taemin’s hair, dark blue for the wall behind him, chestnut for the dresser beneath him, pink and yellow for his skin and red for his lips, as well as some other miscellaneous colors for mixing and what-not. Meanwhile, Jinki searched around for Kibum’s artist belt, which he threw into the bag, and then stuck a small easel in the crux of his arm.

“Is this everything?” Jinki asked, taking the weighty bag from Minjung and glancing toward Kibum.

Kibum nodded. “Yeah. Should be.”

He felt cold, every inch of him. Like his blood had turned to such a thick consistency it could no longer flow properly through his veins. There were spider webs in his throat, making it hard for any air to enter into his lungs as his chest thumped with every erratic beat of his heart.

Jonghyun...Jonghyun…

How would Jonghyun react? He shouldn’t know. He shouldn’t know about this because he just wouldn’t understand, he didn’t before. He wouldn’t have reached for Taemin like that, had groped for just a small touch if he had understood. Tried to understand. Fucking Jonghyun had looked right the fuck at a goddamn wall and fuck. Fuck fuck what the hell was he going to do when he found out about what fucking Kibum was about to do?

Kibum lurched backward when a hand rested on his shoulder, panic spiking in his system.

“Woah, Kibum,” said Jinki, the concern in his face only softening once Kibum had dropped his shoulders from their tense position. “Are you doing okay?”

Kibum bit down on his lip. “Y-yeah…let’s just get this the fuck over with.”

“I can understand that sentiment,” Jinki replied, squeezing Kibum’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get painting.”

Kibum’s uncertainty, the poison bubbling in his insides, the thorns digging into his heart, the nails cutting into his lungs would only last until he entered the bedroom. For those seven steps across his main room, Jinki walking alongside him with a hand burning his shoulder, Minjung just behind, Kibum was torn apart and sewn back together hundreds, thousands of times. And Jonghyun was on his eyes, Jonghyun’s silhouette seared his pupils.

Jonghyun reaching for Taemin, sitting on Kibum’s dresser. Taemin, frozen just as he is in death, drowning in the need to hold him, to pull Jonghyun close to him. For their hearts to beat as one; for nothing to come between them. For life and death to fall apart because that’s what love was supposed to do, wasn’t it?

Jinki opened the door to the bedroom and Kibum drowned.

**

Just as before, he wasn’t conscious for it. Just as with the lion, Kibum was absent as his hands skillfully mixed colors and pressed brush to canvas. His eyes had glazed over, a milky white film setting over them, as he worked.

He began with the background, the corners and edges farthest away from Taemin, mixing the dark blue and gray together to create the drab color of his walls. With broad, imprecise vertical strokes he covered much of the wall and dresser, leaving a sort of halo of white around the pencil outline of Taemin.

He moved onto his hair next, mixing the black and gray paints until he found the shade that suited Taemin. His brush curved over the easel with light strokes to emulate its weightless, cloud-like appearance. Then he colored Taemin’s skin, keeping the layer over the pencil outline of his nose, eyes, and lips thin so he could come back to it later.

So he colored Taemin’s neck and chest, thinly outlining his jutting collarbone and its surrounding valley. He moved to the skin exposed through Taemin’s holey jeans and then his hands and feet, reapplying to any areas that needed an extra coat until he had used up the color.

Then came the white shirt and the deep purple stain over his ribcage. An almost negligible, miniscule stain, really.

Next was the jeans. He was careful to express their raggedness with slashes of white and clearly defining the strands that dangled helplessly from the lips of the various tears. He went back with the wall and dresser colors to fill in the gap between Taemin and what of the background he had painted earlier, careful to keep his strokes relatively within the space defined.

Kibum moved back to Taemin’s face, producing a much thinner brush from the belt around his hip. At this point, consciousness was beginning to drip back into him. Slowly. So, so very slowly. Beginning with the weight of the brush in his fingers.

Awareness spread through him from there, pricking him up his arm until it reached his chest, where it picked up speed and surged through him. He could feel his hand moving, feel the careful and precise curve of his fingers as painted one of Taemin’s closed eyes.

His vision came back, blurred and distorted at first, uneven. The first thing to come into focus was the painting—Taemin. Taemin, almost complete.

Taemin, beautiful.

Like the blurred photo, which fell short of capturing Taemin’s well-defined cheekbones and the softness of his hair and the cherubic color of his lips, the figure on Kibum’s dresser was a doll. Colorless. Lifeless.

But the Taemin on the painting had life.

He had soft pink cheeks, lips that curved like they had been carved from roses. He was the color of a sun-kissed beach and glowed like a mirror held up to the sun. His small, delicate hands were the kind of hands that had been all around the world, that had prodded at hundreds and thousands of curiosities. His raven hair wasn’t messy, but wind-swept, like god himself had reached down to run his fingers through it.

Kibum did not know when he had made the last stroke. He did not know Taemin had disappeared until some time later.

He was too occupied with staring at the Taemin he had brought to life with his hand. A Taemin of color and experience, a Taemin who had lived and lived until even that had been taken from him.

Kibum inhaled, all sensation and awareness finally settling back into him.

He adjusted his weight onto one leg and peered around the canvas. An empty wall stared back at him.

Jinki cleared his throat, spurring Kibum to turn on his heel and see Jinki and Minjung seated on his bed. Jinki was leaning back against the headboard while Minjung was seated closer to Kibum, her legs folded neatly beneath her. “Is he gone?” Jinki asked cautiously.

Kibum nodded.

“Thank god,” Minjung murmured, pushing herself off the bed and rushing toward Kibum to wrap him into a tight hug that nearly sent him off his feet and forced the palette and brush from his hands onto the floor with a loud clatter. “You did it, Kibum.”

Kibum knew he should wrap one of his arms around her, bury his head into her shoulder, do something to convey the same happiness and relief. But he couldn’t.

He turned toward Jinki, his voice dry and weak, “Can we leave now?”

Jinki eased himself off the bed. Only now did Kibum notice the dark circles beneath his eyes, the worn pull of his lips downward. Kibum wondered how awful he must look, too.

“Yeah, let’s get the hell out of here,” Jinki said gently. Minjung pulled away from Kibum, running her hands over his chest and shoulders as though to assure that he was still in one piece. Kibum frowned, realizing she must have been scared out of her mind, seeing him paint like that. She looked even worse than Jinki.

Kibum reached for the painting, his mind seemingly hiccupping as he realized what he was doing. His hand waved before the canvas, just an inch from its already-dry border.

“Do you want to take it with you?” Jinki asked.

Kibum bit down on his lip, eyes wandering over Taemin’s face. The color in him. “Yeah,” he breathed, the single word releasing a weight from his chest.

“Go ahead then. It’s yours, anyway.”

Kibum was careful not to touch the parts of the painting that were still drying when he lifted it from the easel. He held it out in front of him face up, staring down at Taemin as his chest swelled. Jinki led them out of the bedroom, Minjung just a step behind Kibum.

And they were so close. So goddamn close to getting out of there just like that.

As they made their way out, halfway across the main room, the door swung open.

The door swung open and Kibum’s heart stopped, the door swung open and his skin went cold, the door swung open and he felt his everything burst.

Jonghyun had been running, that was obvious. His chest was moving rapidly up and down, heavy breathing audible and ragged as he collected himself with his hands on his knees. He had pushed open the door with all the weight in his body, making a deep hole in the wall across from him. His hair was oiled and perfect, not a strand out of place as he looked up and his eyes focused on Kibum. Even from this distance, Kibum could see the stage make-up running down his cheeks from sweat.

When Jonghyun’s eyes settled on the canvas, Kibum’s heart tore.

“No,” said Jonghyun between pants, shaking his head. “No no no.”

Jinki reached back, wrapping a hand tightly around Kibum’s upper arm, his eyes trained on Jonghyun. “We’re getting the fuck out of here.”

“No, no no no no,” Jonghyun repeated, straightening and taking a lumbering step toward Kibum. Jinki instinctively pulled Kibum behind him, almost knocking him to the ground in the process. “Nononono you didn’t hurt him. You didn’t—”

“Stay back!” said Jinki, raising his opposite hand toward Jonghyun, who froze for a moment, his widened and hurt eyes flitting back and forth between Jinki and the canvas once more.

“Y-you didn’t do it, right?” Jonghyun’s voice was trembling, every word distorted. Already tears were gathering in the corners of his eyes. “You didn’t hurt Taemin…”

“Stay the hell back,” Jinki said again. “I swear to god, Jonghyun, I’m not afraid to—”

“You don’t understand,” Jonghyun continued, the tears now flowing from his eyes. “He’s already been hurt so much. He’s hurt way too much. T-the car didn’t even…he…he was on that street for almost an hour…j-just lying there…hurting all by himself…”

“J-Jonghyun please…” Kibum pleaded, the words falling from his lips and falling dead at the floor.

“You didn’t hurt him again, did you Kibum? Tell me you didn’t hurt him…please…he shouldn’t hurt anymore please Kibum…p-please. He just came back to me…”

Jonghyun was crying openly now, what little makeup remaining on his face doing nothing to hide his growing redness, only giving way further and further to his emotions as the tears spilled from his eyes. Kibum felt himself break with every wracking sob that fell from Jonghyun’s lips, and every desperate gasp for air shrunk Kibum’s lungs too.

“You need to leave, Jonghyun,” said Jinki sternly. “Get the hell out of here or—”

“I painted him, Jonghyun,” interrupted Kibum, his heart pounding in his chest and every inch of his body screaming. “I painted him.”

Jonghyun rattled. He stared at Kibum, shaking his head slightly. “No…no no no…”

Kibum turned the canvas around in his hands, showing the painted side to Jonghyun.

Jonghyun let out a pained moan.“God no,” he cried, his voice choked with tears. “No…why did you hurt him again? Why does Taemin have to get hurt again? Why did you have to hurt him again? Why did you take him from me again?”

“I didn’t hurt anybody,” Kibum replied, feeling the coldness spreading in his chest as he watched Jonghyun fall to his knees. “He…he’s already dead, Jonghyun, gone. No one can hurt Taemin anymore.”

“No! No no no!!” Jonghyun screeched, raising his hands to hold his head, fingers digging into his scalp. “Why did you hurt Taemin?”

Jinki’s grip tightened on Kibum, finally catching his attention. “We’re getting the hell out of here.”

Kibum’s could see the certainty in his eyes, that unwavering stubbornness Kibum had been on the receiving side of so many times over the years.

He looked back at Jonghyun, who was cradling his head in his hands, staring down at the floorboards. A desperate whine fell from his lips. “Taeeeee…”

Kibum bent at the knee, struggling against Jinki’s iron-clad grip to lower himself enough to rest the painting carefully on the ground.

Jonghyun looked up, eyes landing on Taemin’s portrait. His hands shot out, gripping it desperately by the sides and wrenching it toward him, its wooden rim scratching against the floorboards.

Kibum swallowed thickly. “I didn’t hurt anybody, Jonghyun,” he muttered.

Jonghyun moaned, staring down at the canvas in his hands. “Fuck, fucking…Tae….”

“He wanted to say goodbye to you, Jonghyun,” Kibum explained, his throat tightening as the tears threatened him more powerfully now, flowing without restraint from his eyes. “I think he just…he wanted to be beautiful for you one last time, Jonghyun. That’s all.”

Jonghyun let out another moan, so deep and wracking it echoed in Kibum’s own body. Pulled at his heart, pulled him down until it fucking hurt.

Jinki’s grip tightened even more on his arm and he was pulled away, out of his apartment, Minjung just behind.

They could still hear Jonghyun’s sobs as they hurried down the stairs, Kibum nearly tripping from his blurred eyesight combined with Jinki’s rushed pace

Kibum heard them for hours more. He heard them as he sat on Minjung’s couch, crying tears of his own because he fucking loved Jonghyun and he fucking hurt.

**

He alternated between crying and staring at nothing for several hours before they gave him a sleeping pill. He woke up fourteen hours later and threw up bile onto Minjung’s floor.

Jinki was by his side that whole time, Minjung having left to go to work, though she called in almost hourly to check up on how he was doing. He wasn’t eating, was drinking very little and just wanted to curl into a ball and disappear.

He woke up the next day to a small, red bird perched on Minjung’s lamp.

He stared at it, feeling his stomach twist and coil and every inch of his skin twitch. His eyes burned, lungs swelled in his chest. Kibum tried to ignore it. He was done with this. He didn’t want to paint this shit anymore, it didn’t do anything for him, it didn’t help him. It was this fucking shit that had ruined his goddamn life.

He became feverish. Jinki had panicked, calling doctors and testing his temperature religiously as it went up and up. Kibum wavered on the edge of consciousness, slipping in and out often. But whenever his eyes were open, everything was distorted except that little red bird.

Jinki had caught him staring at it, at nothing, and managed to connect the dots. He threw a sketchbook into Kibum’s lap. “You stay right here and you start drawing. I’m going to get your paints.”

He returned less than an hour later, arms bursting with paints and brushes, and dumbed them onto Kibum’s bed.

Once the paints were in his hands, Kibum had vanished again, drowning in semi-consciousness and then easing back into awareness with the painting of the red bird on his lap.

Jinki had frowned down at him. “Never, ever do that again.”

After two more days Kibum was moved to Jinki’s place. He had no complaints, not anymore. It didn’t matter, really. Wherever he was, all he could do was paint. Paint and hope beyond all hope, until his insides were twisting painfully, until his throat strained around each breath he took, that Jonghyun was okay.

Jinki, with an expert combination of sick days and accumulated vacation days, was by him at almost all times. Making him soup, pulling him out of bed and into the shower, making sure he was painting. Kibum felt like a piece of shit, like more a burden than he had ever been on Jinki before, but he was so fucking empty he scarcely minded.

Jinki left once to go back to Kibum’s apartment again, returning with all of his art supplies and clothes, of which there weren’t many. Kibum asked him what his apartment was like and Jinki had shrugged. “Like normal.”

Kibum thought of Jonghyun, memories of him lingering on the forefront of his mind, entire scenes playing out on the opposite wall. He wished they were all memories of him smiling, or singing, of the warm press of his hands against Kibum’s own, but they usually weren’t. They were usually Jonghyun crying. Whether on Kibum’s floor almost ten years ago, or on his bed alone, or on Kibum’s floor, staring down at a painting.

Eventually, however, the hurt in Jonghyun’s voice did not send daggers so deeply into Kibum’s chest, and were replaced by happier memories. Kibum itched to hear him again. To be beside him again. To tell Jonghyun he loved him again.

Four weeks after the incident, Jinki gave him back his phone. Reluctantly. Minjung had seen the longing in Kibum’s eyes and they had argued about whether or not to give it to him. Ultimately, Minjung won.

Jinki and Minjung crowded around Kibum once the phone was pressed into his palm, Jinki’s face stone and Minjung’s a losing battle of stoicism, the curiosity and hope she was trying to keep hidden glistening in her eyes.

It took Kibum over a half-hour to work up the courage. So many goddamn times he pressed on that contact image, or even on the green call button, only to retreat back to the home screen. It hurt so fucking much, how desperately his heart was beating, how every second pressed down on him like a massive weight. Everything hurt so goddamn much and he fucking missed Jonghyun, missed his voice and his smile and his face and his warmth and how their hands curled perfectly together and…

No call music. No warm, familiar voice.

“We’re sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service…”

Kibum cracked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ......Yeah. Sorry guys.............................Epilogue will hopefully be out soon, as it will be a bit short. Sorry if this is shit...it's probably shit right? Oh well.
> 
> Anyway, if you've read this, thank you. Thank you thank you thank you, from the bottom of my heart. This story is so precious to me, and I resonate with Kibum and Jonghyun's characters. I've been sitting on this idea for over a year now. Yup. A year!!! Crazy, right?
> 
> This is also my first chaptered fic for SHINee, and the fact that people read it is just...amazing. Even though it's probably falling short of your expectations, thank you, really, and I hope in the future I can write even better, more polished works. Thank you, thank you.
> 
> I'll see you guys again when the epilogue is up ^^


	7. Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... here we are. The End.
> 
> The road here was incredibly painful and unncessarily long. I want to apologize to all of my readers. I'm a college student so I don't have much free time, and this story is incredibly emotionally taxing and also just plain difficult. This fic comes to just under 68k, and chapters 5 and 6 and this final chapter have entire other versions. There were many scenes I wrote only to cut out, and many I wrote upwards of six times. I think I can safely say that I wrote over 100k for this entire fic and...yeah that's a lot of work, not including how emotional this story is, for me at least.
> 
> Kibum exists in a very dark place inside of me, and sometimes it was easy to get inside that place and sometimes the thought of it made me ill. Honestly, I'll be truly amazed if anyone manages to read this story all the way through. According to a certain website, it would take you over four hours. That's over four hours of this overly dramatic mess and I'm just... I literally don't even think I'm talking to anyone right now that's how certain I am that no one will read this.
> 
> I had a lot of trouble with this because I kept thinking of it as an epilogue, but, once I was able to think of it as a chapter all on it's own, it came much easier. This is virtually the same length as every other chapter, a little bit shorter, actually, but eh.
> 
> So......if anyone is actually reading this, thank you. Thank you thank you. This is my first chaptered fic for the shinee fandom and, even though it's very far from perfect, I do have some pride in it.
> 
> Without any further ado, let's finish this.

When the twisted, curving snake disappeared from the wall, Kibum let out an audible sigh. He signed the corner of the painting, his grip on the brush already weak, before turning to the short dresser beside him. He washed the brush carefully in the cup of water he had put out earlier, then rested it flat on a paint-stained wash cloth to dry, the palette along with it.  
  
Turning off the bedroom light, Kibum collapsed onto the bed and threw the covers over his body. He didn’t even bother undressing, instead reaching into his jean pocket and producing his phone. Ignoring the time, those small numbers that glared at him noxiously, Kibum opened Naver and started a search.  
  
 _Kim Jonghyun_.  
  
It had been over a year. There weren’t many articles nowadays, though they were seemingly endless before. It wasn’t every day a new, popular artist suddenly disappeared off the face off the earth—with an abandoned music show stage, too.  
  
The rumors had started innocently enough. That it was as his company had stated: a family matter had suddenly made him unable to appear for his last goodbye stage but he’d be back soon. When the weeks started to pass, rumors circulated that he had run off to marry his boyfriend in a foreign country and would return when their honeymoon was over.  
  
Then, they turned sour. That despite his popularity, his company had dropped him on account of his sexuality but didn’t want to admit it and paid him into silence. That he had run off to Thailand to get a sex-change surgery.  
  
There was a new article, posted only a few hours ago entitled _Where is Korea’s gay idol?_  
  
Kibum opened it, the fingers of his free hand tightening over the blanket.  
  
It didn’t say anything out of the ordinary either. It was weird enough to disappear before the last goodbye stage, but for an artist with such a successful debut it was incredibly hard to believe that Jonghyun hadn’t made a comeback in the past year. Which meant something had happened, right? His company hadn’t stated anything except that yes, Jonghyun still had a contract with them and the public should anticipate his return.  
  
So, where had he gone? Where is he now?  
  
 _[+1,623, -204] I saw an ugly girl in Ansan today. Maybe it was him after coming back from Thailand lol_  
  
 _[+1,068, -200] There’s no way his company kept him, they’re just lying. They promoted him to make back the money they lost and now he’ll never come back again. No one wants to see a gay guy, and it’s inappropriate for children. Just gross._  
  
 _[+920, -159] I thought he had killed himself…_  
  
 _[+636, -120] I’m pretty sure he did himself in. If his company had just let go of him we’d have at least sightings of him somewhere in the city, but it’s been a whole year and no one has seen him._  
  
 _[+316, -64] Maybe he left the country for good._  
  
 _[+89, -27] I don’t want him back here…_  
  
Kibum lowered his phone, pressing it against his chin as tension curled up inside him. He did this to himself, goddamnit. Stupid articles on the Internet knew even less about Jonghyun’s whereabouts than he did. They didn’t know about Kibum or Taemin or the painting or how Jonghyun’s loneliness ate him from the inside out they didn’t… they didn’t know anything.  
  
The door swung open, Kibum almost jumping from the bed in shock. The light flicked on, revealing Jinki standing at the door with a small smile. “S-sorry,” he began. “You weren’t sleeping, right?”  
  
Kibum shook his head.  
  
Jinki stood still for a moment, wavering at the door as though hoping Kibum would say something. _No, I wasn’t. It’s fine. How was work?_  
  
Kibum didn’t say anything and eventually Jinki took a wide step forward and sat down at the edge of Kibum’s bed, staring outward to the wall. He crossed his legs and arms together, pushing his chest outward to stretch. He exhaled softly.  
  
“I’ve been thinking,” he said in a low, ginger voice. It made the nerves at the base of Kibum’s neck grow cold. “That we should do an exhibition. I mean, it’s been over a year, and the living room is bursting with paintings.”  
  
The room fell silent. Jinki kept staring at the wall, his gaze settled on the stick-on hook that once supported a clock Kibum had stuffed under the bed shortly after moving-in with Jinki. Once Minjung’s housemate returned from overseas, Kibum was transferred from her apartment into the spare room at Jinki’s. He had had no complaint at first, couldn’t have cared less if they had shipped him off to Timbuktu, but now… now he was a leech.  
  
All he did was stay in this goddamn room and paint. Fucking paint and paint and paint with only Jinki or Minjung coming into check on him every few hours, but even then he knew they felt bad about it because he couldn't even fucking sleep at the right time or for the right length. Days didn’t end at 2 pm and resume at 11 nor was napping from 7 am until noon healthy but he was doing it anyway. They’d leave tiny snacks at the door but he didn’t really eat them. He’d tear them up into tiny pieces and flush them down the toilet most of the time, and at meals, if he was awake and had been unable to feign slumber, he’d normally excuse himself after only a few spoonfuls of rice.  
  
And those were the good fucking days. Not the days when he would wake up screaming at 5 am because _I-I saw Jonghyun in my dream—shh, Kibum it was just a dream—and he was covered in blood—Jesus Christ—and it’s all my fault I did this this is my fault—no, Kibum it’s not your fault you didn’t do any—I’M THE ONE WHO FUCKING PAINTED IT._  
  
Kibum watched Jinki, his insides twisting together and discomfort climbing up his throat. He tried to swallow it down but failed, the knot instead hardening and growing weightier. He dropped his hand to the bed and let go of his phone, instead squeezing his fingers around the base of his opposite arm.  
  
“I’ll do an exhibition,” he muttered.  
  
Jinki turned to him, eyes wide in shock. Maybe he had expected Kibum to fight him on it. He must have realized that his emotions were showing on his face, as he exhaled coolly and relaxed his features. “That’s good, Kibum. I’m proud of you.”  
  
Kibum shrugged. “It’s not like I haven’t done it half a dozen times before.” He looked down at his arm, where the skin was reddening under the pressure of his fingers. “And I need to get the money to pay you back for all this, anyway.”  
  
Jinki’s brow furrowed. “To pay me back for what?”  
  
“Everything. The food, the room, running to the store for paint and canvasses, the doting, the concern, the—“  
  
“Kibum, _no_ ,” Jinki interrupted, his voice sharp. Kibum’s eyes flashed upward to his and then immediately regretted it. Jinki’s gaze was harsh and steely, sending needles pricking along Kibum’s skin. “I didn't do any of it for pay. I’m not taking money from you.”  
  
“But you did it,” Kibum responded.  
  
“I did it because you’re my friend, Kibum.”  
  
Kibum sighed, even that single breath wavering as his veins twisted in on themselves. “You didn’t have to do any of this, and you shouldn’t have done it for free so just let me—“  
  
“You’re my friend, Kibum.”  
  
“But it’s not your fault—“  
  
“What’s going on in here?” asked Minjung, entering the room from the hallway. Jinki immediately rose, opening his arms as though to usher her outward but she ignored him, going so far as to push past him to stand beside Kibum. She opened her mouth to speak but caught herself, dropping carefully down to her knees before resuming. “Kibum?”  
  
Turning his head away, Kibum stared at the opposite wall. He squeezed his arm tighter.  
  
Jinki spoke up. “Kibum wants to pay me. For this.”  
  
They were silent for a moment, Kibum’s own heartbeat echoing in his veins. He wanted them to leave.  
  
“He paid for rent at his old apartment, so I don’t see why he can’t pay for half of yours now.”  
  
Kibum’s head turned to Minjung so quickly his neck should have snapped, but it was Jinki who reacted first. “B-but, Minjung, he can’t.”  
  
Minjung turned to her boyfriend, her mouth set in a deep frown. “I don’t see why not. He did it before, and the two of you halving this place should come to less a month than he was paying before. You do live in a nice apartment, but it’s not _that_ nice.”  
  
She turned back to Kibum. “Does that sound okay?”  
  
Kibum bit down on his lip, giving a long exhale before replying, “Food, too. I’ll cover half.”  
  
“You eat about as much as a mouse,” Jinki protested.  
  
“He said half,” Minjung replied, her voice powerful and direct, “so he’ll pay half. Starting tomorrow.” She blinked at Kibum. “Does that sound okay?”  
  
He nodded, swallowing thickly. “Thanks, Minjung.”  
  
Smiling, she ran a hand gently through his hair. “No problem, Kibum. I’ll be sure to order lots of really expensive food for us from now on, too.”  
  
Jinki sighed audibly. “Minjung…”  
  
“Also,” she continued, ignoring her boyfriend. “The two of you should go shopping. You are going to have your exhibition, right, Kibum?” She waited until Kibum gave a stiff nod. “So you’ll need something new to wear.”  
  
“I have stuff to wear,” Kibum replied. “I’ve got everything with me.”  
  
Minjung shook her head. “Something new. Something that fits you and makes you look just as handsome as you really are. You deserve that, and Jinki will go with you.”  
  
Acid seeped into Kibum’s veins, his stomach curling in on itself. “I… I haven’t gone shopping for clothes in years…”  
  
Jinki cleared his throat, shifting both Kibum’s and Minjung’s attentions toward him. “I think it’s a good idea. You need stuff that fits you, Kibum. And if it gets too hard we can just come home but… we can give it a try.”  
  
They were looking directly at each other now. Kibum shifted awkwardly under Jinki’s gaze, his neck and face heating up with what probably looked like embarrassment. But it wasn’t, it was something else he couldn’t place or make sense of.  
  
He turned away, finally releasing his arm from his own grip and burying his hands under the covers.  
  
“Okay,” he breathed. “I’ll try.”  
  
**  
  
“How do those feel, Kibum?”  
  
Kibum turned to the door, biting down on his lip before replying, “Um, okay, I think.”  
  
“You think?” Jinki repeated, leaning against the changing room door with a resounding thud.  
  
“…Yeah?”  
  
“Why don’t you come out here so I can see?”  
  
Kibum swallowed thickly, pushing down the discomfort hardening at the base of his throat. “A-actually,” he began, wiping his sticky hands over his thighs, clad in a pair of jeans anyone could clearly see were too big on him. “C-can you get me a size… smaller?”  
  
“Sure,” said Jinki. “I’ll be back in a minute then.”  
  
By the time Kibum managed to work himself up to a ‘thanks,’ the sound of Jinki’s footsteps had already faded into nothingness.  
  
He sighed, turning back to his reflection in the mirror before casting his eyes back downward. The jeans bunched awkwardly at his groin and knees. The sight made him feel ever sicker.  
  
He threw off the jeans as quickly as he could, which, unfortunately, wasn’t too quick at all. There was too much spare fabric and too little Kibum. All near-translucent skin stretched thin over jutting bones.  
  
“C-calm your shit,” he muttered, throwing the jeans into one corner and almost falling onto the small cushioned stool in the dressing room. He buried his head in his hands, inhaling and exhaling rapidly. “Calm the fuck down.”  
  
He could feel the cold sweat drying on his skin, discomfort and hatred traveling through him, walking the tightrope between his veins and outer layer of skin, twisting behind his eyelids.  
  
“This is stupid,” he mumbled, one hand traveling upward to twist in his hair and give it a powerful tug. “It’s just a pair of pants, you fucking idio—”  
  
“I’ve got ‘em, Kibum!” Jinki announced suddenly through the door, completely derailing Kibum’s thoughts.  
  
“O-one sec,” Kibum replied, rising to his feet. He made his way over to the door, angling his lower-half behind it as he reached out one hand for the jeans from Jinki.  
  
“If they fit, let me see, okay?”  
  
Kibum nodded dumbly, shutting the door with his free hand. He put on the pair quickly, struggling with the button because of the sweat collecting on his fingers before stopping himself and inhaling deeply. “Calm down.”  
  
And he did, eventually. Eventually. The small shivers in his palms calmed, leaving only a soft buzz that traveled up his veins to collect in the crux of his arm. With steadier fingers, now, he managed to do the button, and, as he again dried the sweat of his hands by rubbing them vigorously over his thighs, before turning on his heel and swinging open the door.  
  
Jinki’s phone slid from his fingers, as he had jumped a bit at the shock of Kibum’s sudden appearance. Kibum’s heart slipped as well, falling from the cavity of his chest into the center of his abdomen, all of his blood collecting there and forming a horrid weight. Fucking goddamnit it would have been a better idea for him to just stay in that dressing room fucking fu—  
  
Jinki’s hand pressed gingerly against his shoulder blade. “Let’s get a good look at you.”  
  
Leading him to a floor-length mirror at the end of the hall, Jinki ran his hand over the expanse of Kibum’s back. His touch was so goddamn warm, hot, blazing burning searing.  
  
“You look good.”  
  
Jinki lowered his hand but the searing stripe of heat lingered on Kibum’s skin, like the new shirt was burning him. Every inch of his skin touched by the shirt began to stir, like it was turning inside out and—“What do you think, Kibum?”  
  
His mouth dry, Kibum swallowed thickly and raised his eyes, finally focusing on the reflection staring back at him.  
  
The Kibum in the mirror was wearing a dark blue button-down Jinki had picked out earlier in their shopping for the day. It fit him, accented the line from his neck to his shoulders, sleeves cutting off at just the right place on his wrist and not too tight or loose over his arms, and did not hang too heavily over his chest or abdomen. And his jeans too; they were straight and well-fitted, sitting almost perfectly at his hip.  
  
His organs twisted together, compressing the pressure in his abdomen until it was staggering. His limbs were weightless, creating a bubble of sensation at his core, everything outside numb and failing.  
  
“Kibum?” muttered Jinki, his voice soft. “Are you okay?”  
  
Kibum shook his head, closing his eyes tightly. “I… I can’t do this.”  
  
The pads of Jinki’s fingers pressed softly against Kibum’s shoulder blades, and Kibum instinctively recoiled.  
  
Jinki paused for a moment. “What’s going on?”  
  
Biting down harshly on his lip, Kibum inhaled through his nose before raising his head, staring back at his reflection. Unwarranted, Kibum’s hand snapped upward, fingers twisting a thick strand of hair together and yanking. Hard. So hard his eyes twisted closed and a hiss sounded from his lips.  
  
“I hate it,” he whispered. “I hate this.”  
  
“W-what do you hate?”  
  
“This!” Kibum hissed, tugging again on his hair. “This, it, everything. Me.”  
  
“Do you hate your hair?”  
  
Kibum opened his eyes, blinking away the tears he hadn’t even realized we’re growing. Jinki showed in the mirror, too. Facing him, his brows furrowed, both hands lifted as though he wanted to reach out to Kibum but kept holding back.  
  
Kibum swallowed thickly, Jinki’s question scratching against his mind. “What?”  
  
“We can fix your hair,” Jinki continued. “If you hate it. There’s some things we can’t change easily but… if you hate your hair, we can change it.”  
  
Kibum stared at Jinki, his skin clammy and itching, ribcage seemingly shrinking against his insides. Jinki was still looking at him.  
  
Kibum looked at his hair, at the thin, damaged strands. Even though it had been months since he’d last bleached it, it was damaged beyond repair. Even his black roots, an inch or so long, were ragged and pitiful.  
  
“I hate it.”  
  
“We’ll fix it then, okay?” said Jinki. “We’ll go to the hair salon and take care of it right now, does that sound alright?”  
  
Kibum turned to him, staring at Jinki in real life and not in the mirror. His eyes were dark with concern, cheeks pinkish and mouth slightly-open. “W-why are you doing this for me, Jinki?”  
  
Jinki gave a small smile. “I’m your friend, Kibum. Friends take care of each other.”  
  
**  
  
Minjung’s meals were always elaborate, to the point where Kibum felt he were eating at a family restaurant rather than Jinki’s apartment. She wanted to be a chef, after all, so she practiced at every opportunity. “Since Kibum’s here that gives me an excuse to try a lot of new recipes and make a lot of food,” she explained once. Kibum didn’t point out little he usually ate.  
  
Jinki’s workload was strenuous: he left in the morning and did not return until late evening, and even then he stayed up until the early hours of the morning bent over the kitchen table filing through papers, taking notes, running calculations for the second, third, fourth time. He had a desk in his room but had taken to working in the kitchen if Minjung were staying the night, which was most nights. She worked every day of the week save Sunday, on which she would return to her own apartment for fresh clothes and whatever other necessities she needed before returning. Kibum sometimes wondered why she did not just formally move in with Jinki, as she was such a constant presence it seemed Jinki had let them both into his home at the same time, but never asked.  
  
This was one of those evenings, not rare in the slightest, when it would just be Minjung and Kibum eating dinner together, but the meal itself was no less refined. Minjung served up no less than six sides with spicy fried pork.  
  
“Just eat what you can,” Minjung muttered, making her way over to the seat beside Kibum’s at the kitchen table. She took her chopsticks into hand, clicking them together before reaching for the anchovies and sliding a few past her teeth.  
  
Kibum stared down at his rice bowl, his stomach tightening in on itself. He had painted that day, roused from a brief yet groggy slumber at eight in the morning by an image sitting on the foot of his bed, like it belonged there. A human-like creature, only about two feet in height with skin unnaturally pale, like a pearl, and silver hair that reached far past its feet. It had not taken him too long to finish and, so soon as the paint dried, it was thrown into the growing pile of paintings in the living room.  
  
He spent the next few hours lying on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering how to turn hours into minutes and minutes into seconds and life into nothing.  
  
“Have you eaten something today?”  
  
Kibum shook his head.  
  
He could hear the gears in her head turning, the hesitation which lined her voice. “Do you… do you think you can at least eat some rice or… what if I made soup?”  
  
Kibum had been in knots the entire day, the walls of his bedroom closing in on him and hey. He didn’t deserve to leave it or even sit out in the dining room with Minjung or to eat her goddamn food or even be here.  He pressed his fingers into his thighs, pushing against the fabric of his sweatpants and rubbing it back and forth, creating a searing burn on his skin. Godfucking _damnit_ Kibum here you fucking go again, your waste of an existence draining away someone else’s time and goddamn life. _Fuck you_ , you piece of shit.  
  
“Do you want to watch a movie or something, Kibum?”  
  
The offer was odd enough to catch Kibum’s attention. He raised his head and faced Minjung, whose expression was so soft it was almost cherubic.  
  
“Just on the couch or something,” she added. “I’ve been at work all day so I’d like to spend some time with you.”  
  
His hands traveled to his arms, and he scratched his nails against the skin as his throat closes in on itself. The food glared at him in his periphery, sending slivers of poison throughout his system.  
  
He bit down on his lip. “You… you wasted all this time making dinner…”  
  
“Nah, we can just wait until Jinki gets home.” She pushed the chair back and rose to her feet. “Come on, Kibum. I have terrible taste in movies—or so Jinki says—so you have to help me pick one out.”  
  
He looked up at her, tightening his grip on his forearm. He could see what she was trying to do, he could see right through this poor charade. She felt sorry for him, for some twisted reason, like everything that was wrong with _him_ was somehow her fault, and she had to do whatever she could to somehow alleviate all his pain or some bullshit like that an—  
  
“I like superhero movies,” she continued. “So, Avengers or Iron Man?”  
  
He blinked.  
  
“I… I’ve never seen Avengers…”  
  
“Then let’s watch that,” she said, her voice cheery and high. She held out her hand to Kibum, who flinched and clenched his eyes tightly shut.  
  
Kibum didn’t respond. Maybe if he didn’t respond she’d just go away. She’d leave him alone and then maybe she’d forgot and god maybe someday Jinki would forget too.  
  
The floorboards creaked, and Kibum, curiosity taking over, opened his eyes to see Minjung had lowered herself to a squat. He blinked down at her, confused, and she smiled back up at him. “You look good, Kibum. Is it okay if I touch?”  
  
“W-what?”  
  
“Your hair.”  
  
“Oh,” Kibum exhaled, unthinkingly raising a hand to the side of his head and running his thumb over the coarse hair, still growing out from having shaved everything off some three or four weeks ago. “I guess…”  
  
Without waiting for even a moment, Minjung lifted her hand and brushed her fingers softly over the opposite side of his head. Kibum held his breath, his heart pounding madly and sweat rising at the base of his neck as he watched her. “Come on, Kibum. I have to educate you on superheroes!”  
  
Staring at her for a minute longer, one hand still squeezing his arm and the on the side of his head, he waited for her to move. But she didn’t. She stayed perfectly still, waiting for him, crouched on the floor.  
  
Kibum exhaled, feeling the tension relax in his chest—if only a little. “Okay.”  
  
Minjung’s grin widens. “You are about to have what may be the _best_ two hours of your life.”  
  
**  
  
It was a return to the norm, in a way. The same gallery, the same brochures, even the same hors d’oeuvres and champagne, even the same servers.  
  
“So,” Jinki puffed, resting his briefcase on the table. “Same as always.” He produced two stacks of laminated cards from the briefcase, handing the smaller set of cards to Kibum. He thumbed through them quickly, finding only one or two titles recognizable.  
  
“Did you find everything this time?” Kibum asked.  
  
“Nope, we’re only displaying stuff I could find and know we wouldn’t get sued for this time around.”  
  
Kibum’s blinked. “Not even any maybes or…?”  
  
Jinki hesitated, his back still turned to Kibum as he opened a box of brochures and arranged them on the table. “Considering what we know now, I don’t think it’s safe anymore. I mean, imaginary friends are fun and all but I think we should avoid…” His voice trailed off, but Kibum completed the thought for him.  
  
“Ghosts.”  
  
“Yeah, ghosts.”  
  
Kibum bit down on his lip. “I’ll just, set these up then.”  
  
He turned on his heel before Jinki could respond, setting himself to the task of locating the paintings that matched the name cards. He distracted himself by repeating the names until his tongue felt heavy and foreign in his mouth.  _Yumboe, Budai_ , _Aishanwerhta_ , _Kikimora_ …  
  
When it was done, he paced around the gallery, his thoughts weighty and almost suffocating. It was nothing new, of course.  
  
Why him?  
  
Why did they appear? What did they want?  
  
Myths, gods, goddesses, goddamn nightmares and monsters, the dead. They all came to Kibum to be brought to life by his brush.  
  
“This is dumb,” he hissed. “Everything about this is so fucking stupid… just goddamn paintings. Goddamn paintings and an insane painter. That’s all this is.”  
  
“Kibum.”  
  
Kibum jumped, his insides twisting up on each other as he looked over at Jinki, who was making his way toward him, face marked with concern. Oh, he’d heard.  
  
“Why does this happen, Jinki?” Kibum asked, the question slipping from his lips without any forethought. “Why do I see things?”  
  
Jinki only exhaled, pushing his lips to the side in that way he always did when he didn’t know the answer. Kibum sighed too.  
  
“I don’t think anyone knows,” Jinki answered. “It’s just… who you are. Or maybe a family curse.”  
  
Kibum scoffed.  
  
“You sure there’s not some weird family curse or something? Maybe your parents can see ghosts too.”  
  
“Maybe I should ask,” Kibum replied with a laugh. “That’d be weird, wouldn’t it? After so many years, to ask about family curses or if grandma saw weird stuff as a kid.”  
  
There was a brief pause. “I think they’d like to talk to you again no matter the reason, you know.”  
  
Kibum raised a hand to his forehead, pressing his fingers against his temples so hard it hurt. “Jinki, I can’t think about this right now.”  
  
“Let’s drink some champagne, okay? We’ve got about a half hour before we open up.”  
  
Jinki poured them both a flute, and Kibum found himself more tempted than he had ever been before to drink down every bottle. Maybe it would knock him out.  
  
Jinki stayed by his side even after they opened. They weren’t really talking about anything, maybe a small back and forth about what paintings were their personal favorites, or which they thought might be sold first. Kibum could tell that Jinki was being cautious, that he was worried about Kibum. Both he and Minjung had been walking on eggshells around Kibum for months now, and, while Kibum couldn’t exactly blame them, at the same it made him feel even worse.  
  
“Y-you should get on the floor,” he muttered after the exhibition had been open for some twenty minutes. “Our regulars are going to be coming in soon and you’ll have to use your charm and everything. They’ll be expecting it.”  
  
Jinki snorted. “So we fall back into our roles of overzealous manager and mysterious artist, then?”  
  
Kibum shrugged. “I think we work better that way, don't we?”  
  
“Maybe,” breathed Jinki. He hesitated for a moment longer before continuing. “Okay, but if anything, and I mean anything, makes you uncomfortable you give me the sign, alright? No matter what’s going on or where I am or anything, I’ll come and we’ll get you out of here if we have to, alright?”  
  
“I know,” Kibum muttered, raising a hand to the side of his neck just to remind Jinki that he had not forgotten their shared signal. “But I think I’ll be okay.”  
  
Jinki’s eyes move from Kibum to the gallery, casting a wide glance over its every corner and guest.  
  
“I don’t paint what I see,” muttered Kibum, attracting Jinki’s attention once again. “I’m inspired by myths. I don’t paint what I see.”  
  
Jinki blinked, then a small, sad smile formed on his lips. “Let me know if you need me.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
His eyes followed Jinki as he downs what little remains in his champagne flute before handing it off to a server and settling himself amongst some smartly-dressed men admiring a painting of a rather menacing white tiger.  
  
Kibum reached for his second flute of champagne some minutes later, when a small crowd of regulars had formed around him.  
  
“We didn’t recognize you without your blonde hair, Key! But you look so young with black hair.”  
  
“This is the best-dressed I’ve ever seen you, honestly. You should wear suits more often; you look so professional.”  
  
“My wife and I were somewhat worried when you didn’t have another exhibition at the end of the year last year, but we are beyond thrilled to see you’ve come back better than ever! She’s already bought three paintings.”  
  
Kibum found himself beyond flustered at their comments, heating up from the inside-out. The guests must have realized, as the small crowd quickly dispersed once he first sipped from that second flute. It took him a few minutes to realize that first sip had actually constituted half the glass.  
  
He let out an exhale, sticking his free hand into his pocket in a lame attempt to cover up the sweat building on his palm. He swore under his breath, eyes scanning the crowd for Jinki, who he found haggling prices with a gray-haired woman. Jinki must have somehow felt his gaze, as the two met eyes for the briefest moment before Jinki turned back to the woman.  
  
“Only a few more hours,” Kibum whispers into the flute. “Just a few.”  
  
And the next two passed rather uneventfully, with only a handful of guests approaching Kibum and never in such a large group. Jinki’s smile seemed to take up the whole room, and Kibum could only imagine that it was a result of one of the more expensive paintings having been sold, but there were far too many people in the small space for him to be sure of which one it was. Kibum eased off the alcohol in favor of a simple bottle of water, and he was leaning against the wall, tossing it in one hand, when a voice reached his ears.  
  
“Bum.”  
  
The world really stopped spinning at that moment, just as Kibum’s heart gave up on beating and the blood in his veins turned to water.  
  
Kibum managed to turn his head, and there he was. Jonghyun.  
  
Alive.  
  
Jonghyun’s voice was breathy, as though he were worried someone else in the room might overhear. “Kibum, just let me…”  
  
His voice trailed off, the silence tightening around Kibum’s heart and pushing the air from his lungs in one short phrase. “I thought you were dead.”  
  
Jonghyun bit down on his lip. “I…I don’t know. I’m not dead.”  
  
They stared at each other for a minute.  
  
Jonghyun was paler, that was immediately obvious. He was probably only a shade or two darker than Kibum, while he had once been warm and sun-kissed. His hair was too long and unstyled, half-curling bangs of black hair threatening to overcome his vision. He had always been a small guy, from his height to his tiny waist and thin legs, but he seemed smaller now, too. Almost like he might slip through the cracks in the floor’s tiling. He looked almost nothing like the dark, well-groomed and powerful solo artist the public knew, and the circles beneath his eyes were grayer than those of the Jonghyun Kibum had known, his eyes drooping almost like an injured dog’s.  
  
“Can we talk?” Jonghyun asked, finally cracking the silence that had solidified around them.  
  
Kibum nodded dumbly. “Yeah. Let’s… let’s go to the back. It’ll be more private.”  
  
Jonghyun nodded back, and Kibum turned on his heel. He didn’t look back at Jonghyun as he maneuvered through the crowd and through the white door, in the back of the gallery, the same color as the walls. He didn’t look back because that meant he might have looked at Jinki—or even at Jonghyun, and that would have made his lungs shrink to the size of pennies and air to choke him because _the fuck_ was he doing.  
  
Jonghyun, however, hadn’t lost him. And soon the two were standing across from each other in the semi-darkness of the storage room. It was rather full, as the exhibition made no use of many of the tables and chairs that were stacked along the walls or almost to the ceiling. There was only a foot or so of space between them. Kibum wondered if Jonghyun could see the nervous sweat budding at the base of his neck, or maybe hear the frantic beat of his heart.  
  
“You look good, Kibum.”  
  
That was all that Jonghyun said, even though they had been definitely staring at each other for over two minutes cumulatively.  
  
Kibum swallowed thickly, his fingers pulling at the hem of his jacket. “T-thanks… Minjung ordered it for me online and we went to get it tailored together…”  
  
“You look good,” he repeated. “Your hair, too. It’s like…like when he first met.”  
  
“Oh,” Kibum breathed immediately, reaching up a hand to touch the side of his head. “I got tired of the bleach.”  
  
Jonghyun nodded like it was all he could do. He was worrying at his lip with his upper teeth, trying to figure out what to say. Kibum didn’t have anything else to say. He didn't know what he wanted from this, wasn’t even sure what he felt at seeing Jonghyun again after so long. Relief? There must have been some sort of relief. Jonghyun was _fucking_ alive. But maybe that word was too weak, maybe it didn’t capture the emotions that were collecting inside of him like a wad of chewing gum, or the ones turning his blood to molasses or pinching at the cruxes of his arms and the insides of his knees.  
  
“I thought you were dead.”  
  
Jonghyun blinked, releasing his lip. “I know,” he breathed.  
  
“I thought you were dead.”  
  
“I’m not,” Jonghyun breathed, his voice slow. “I went to your apartment a few months ago but someone else had moved in and they didn’t know where you had gone. I managed to find your website and decided to wait until your next exhibition so I could talk to you in person.”  
  
“There’s an email on the website.”  
  
“But Jinki manages it, doesn’t he?” Jonghyun replied, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I…I didn’t think he’d tell you anything if I tried to contact you.”  
  
Kibum inhaled deeply. “He would have. Jinki would have told me.”  
  
Jonghyun raised his head. He was biting down on his lip again, worrying so fervently at his lower lip Kibum watched as a dry piece got caught on one of his teeth. Jonghyun probably hadn’t noticed, as he only bit down harder. Kibum wondered if he’d start bleeding.  
  
“I tried to call you,” said Kibum, his throat threatening to close in on itself and the words heavy yet smooth. “But the line had been disconnected.”  
  
“I turned off my phone for a while, and by the time I got the guts to turn it on again I was getting so many calls from stalkers and reporters and homophobes I had to change my number.”  
  
Kibum crossed his arms over his chest, squeezing them against his chest. “My number hasn’t changed.”  
  
The words hung in the air for a moment. Jonghyun worked at his lip again, this time ripping the dried piece of lip away, leaving a small, discolored mark dotted with blood. “I erased all my contacts. I lost your number.”  
  
The silence returned, this time heavier. Tighter. It wound its way around Kibum’s throat, pushed Jonghyun’s head downward so he was staring again at the floor with his sad, drooping eyes. The chatter of the gallery guests reached their ears, and Kibum found himself wondering if Jinki had realized he was gone. Maybe he had seen him and Jonghyun enter the backroom and was standing just outside, his ear pressed to the door to spring into action just in case. In case of what, Kibum wasn't sure.  
  
“I’ve…” Jonghyun started, his voice unsure. “I joined a bereavement group.”  
  
Kibum blinked. “O-oh.”  
  
“I know I’m a little late into it,” Jonghyun continued. “My therapist suggested it. The company got me one, a therapist. Paid for it and everything. But it was too awkward to spill my guts in front of someone I don’t even know or like or…so I just do the group now. And some medication.”  
  
Kibum swallowed.  
  
“Some of the others lost people years ago, for others its more recent. I think it helps. Yeah, I think it forces me to relive some things I’d rather… not. But I think it helps.” He was babbling now, his voice low and wavering, eyes jumping from meeting Kibum’s to settling over his shoulders, down to his folded arms, and then to the floor. “They haven’t gone on the Internet and talked about me either, and that’s…especially good. I want to go back to music some day, and I’d definitely like to return with my privacy intact.”  
  
The silence again. But this time it did not coil itself about Kibum’s throat. Instead, it pushed up the words that were spinning within him, crashing against his teeth and tongue with a vicious force.  
  
“What about the painting?”  
  
Jonghyun’s eyes finally focused back on Kibum’s again, but even then his gaze was wavering. “I…I still have it. You’re a really good artist. It’s better than any photograph I have.” He paused, inhaling deeply. “I’m sorry for the whole… that whole… everything. I’m sorry for everything, really. None of it’s your fault. It’s no one’s fault that he’s gone now and it’s not your fault that you had to paint him or anything I just… I had a really hard time.”  
  
“I know,” muttered Kibum. “And it’s okay.”  
  
“Taemin was the only one I had,” Jonghyun continued. “After I left that summer, my parents basically disowned me. I convinced myself that none of my old friends wanted to talk to me either but… Taemin. He was different, you know? He realized I needed someone and he became that person. I convinced myself that this was my new life, a life with Taemin and I. And I decided that I wouldn’t need anyone else but him, and then he was gone.”  
  
Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Kibum shuffled his feet over the floor. “I went to Seoul. To find you.”  
  
Jonghyun’s brows furrowed together. “What?”  
  
“It was October. Your phone was disconnected, and I guess my mother knew about us. I don’t know how but she probably did and she let me go up to see you. But I didn’t know where you were and by the time I found your university, you were already gone.”  
  
“Oh,” Jonghyun breathed. “I didn’t know.”  
  
Kibum shrugged.  
  
“That makes me wish I didn’t give up on you so quickly,” Jonghyun sighed. “I put you and my feelings for you behind me because of Taemin.”  
  
“It’s okay,” replied Kibum.  
  
“Kibum, I just want…I want you to know…,” Jonghyun’s voice trailed off again. He inhaled and exhaled in rhythm, closing his eyes to collect himself before opening them again and speaking in one controlled breath. “I don’t know how I feel right now—I feel too much about too many things—but I loved you over that summer. And I loved you when I found you again.”  
  
Kibum nodded, the words slipping from his lips immediately. “I loved you, too. Both times.”  
  
Jonghyun gave a few brief nods all in succession. “There’s something else I wanted to ask you.” Kibum’s brows furrowed together and Jonghyun stuck both of his hands into his pockets. “It’s… the whole group sort of thing. You make friends, even if that sounds weird. Friends who understand what you’re feeling, and can help you through birthdays and anniversaries and holidays or whatever. I decided I needed more, once I got used to having people around me again. And I want you too, Kibum.”  
  
“Jonghyun, I don’t think I can—“  
  
“I don’t mean it that way,” said Jonghyun quickly, as though realizing the connotation of his words. “I mean, I think I really might love you again some day, if I don’t love you right now. But I don’t want that right now, I just want to text you. I want to text you when I’m awake and I don’t want to sleep. I want to call you when I’m lonely. And I want to ask if you’ve eaten yet, and maybe talk you into an apple or something. And I want to call me when the images are gone but they’re still weighing down on your mind.”  
  
A smile smile pulled at Kibum’s lips. He could feel his own cheeks rounding and Jonghyun’s began to do the same.  
  
“Are you saying that you want to be my friend, Jonghyun?”  
  
Jonghyun reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it open-handed toward Kibum. “Yeah, Kibum. That’s all I want.”  
  
And for the third time—and the last time—Kibum gave Jonghyun his number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that we are done! Wow.
> 
> So originally I was going to do a whole thing talking about the fic but now I've realized /no one cares/ so!! idk if you have any questions or anything else you'd like to talk about, just pop it in the comments below or message me privately? I dunno, it's up to you.
> 
> Again, thank you everyone. Thank you. So much.  
> \--Rose


End file.
